


Signed and Sealed (with a Kiss)

by gypsyweaver



Category: Christian Bible, Christian Bible (Old Testament), Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Marriage (Good Omens), Amnesia, Anal Sex, Angels don't remember, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Beelzebub Has Breasts, Beelzebub Has a Penis (Good Omens), Beelzebub Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Beelzebub Whump, Beelzebub lives in Florida, Beelzebub talkzz like thizz, Bible, Bless Gabriel's Heart, Feels, Gabriel Has Issues (Good Omens), God is Present, God is a bastard, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), I apologize for nothing, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Mild Blood, Misgendering, My First Work in This Fandom, No Beta, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Other, POV Gabriel (Good Omens), Plot, Protective Gabriel (Good Omens), Smut, Soft Beelzebub (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), This Was Supposed To Be A One Shot, Trans Michael, Trauma, Vaginal Sex, Whump, Why yes the whole Bible, because I said so, so if you see something say something
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-01-13 22:20:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 77,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21231668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: After the War between the Heavenly Host and theFallenFalling angels, Heaven's Host waits outside the gates of Pandemonium for...something to happen. Eventually, Dagon challenges the assembled Host to single combat. If Heaven's champion wins, then Hell surrenders unconditionally. If Hell wins, Heaven kindly pisses off, and all further combat between the two armies takes place on Earth.Gabriel is Heaven's champion. Beelzebub fights for Hell.Thus begins 6K years of not-so-slow burn.Updating on Tuesdays.





	1. Single Combat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the War between the Heavenly Host and the <strike>Fallen</strike> Falling angels, Heaven's Host waits outside the gates of Pandemonium for...something to happen. Eventually, Dagon challenges the assembled Host to single combat. If Heaven's champion wins, then Hell surrenders unconditionally. If Hell wins, Heaven kindly pisses off, and all further combat between the two armies takes place on Earth.
> 
> Gabriel is Heaven's champion. Beelzebub fights for Hell.

Outside the Gates of Pandemonium, October 31, 4004 BC

* * *

In the caverns of Hell, it is impossible to judge the passage of time.

The angelic Host had set up camp some time prior, at the gates of Pandemonium. That name had formed in the angels’ minds as soon as they saw the gates. God also granted them the knowledge that this place was the capital of a new realm for the Fallen called, “Hell”.

Since those gates had shut, the Fallen stayed well away. Licking their wounds and plotting unseen, probably. The angels set up watches. They waited outside the gates, for God only knows what.

There had been questions, of course. Such as how the retreating army even HAD gates to hide behind. But Gabriel already knew the answer to that.

God did this. God had a plan. God knew that these angels, these bad angels, would rebel. God had already built a pen for Her unruly children. They knew to go there.

By God’s grace.

The angels who would become the Fallen had attacked the Garden. The walls kept them out, and the army of God rushed to meet their rebellious siblings. The War began in that confusion outside the gates of Eden.

Gabriel was built to be a soldier before there was even a word for war. He had been back-to-back with Michael, spears thrusting into the bodies of his Fallen siblings. He’d watched their blood, burnt black and ichorous, slide down the golden shaft of his spear. His fingers were slicked with it, but he’d kept going.

Until one of their number had breathed Hellfire for the first time. Then, he’d lost Michael in the panic, and the battle had begun in earnest.

The Fallen were disorganized in their rage. So, in spite of their fires, they’d been beaten back. Their numbers were smaller (two angels for every Fallen), and that surely helped the Heavenly cause.

The process of becoming Fallen (which the rebels were going through as they fought) looked to be incredibly painful. Spines bursting from skin, teeth shed and fangs growing in their place, tusks ripping faces open as they grew, claws bending hands into unnatural shapes, spines elongating and curving. The crunch of battle was punctuated with the crunch of bodies changing, becoming weapons of death and destruction.

Yet, in spite of their pain, they fought. Bravely, foolishly, stubbornly. They came and came and came. And they bled.

For all of the fighting and fires, very few perished. On either side.

And then, without warning, the Fallen retreated. That act would give them their name. They fell back, becoming the Fallen.

Down and down, into the black abyss, pursued every step by the Host of Heaven. Run aground in a city that probably did not exist until it was needed. And now, the angels waited at a gate that they could not pass through.

Gabriel did not want to think on what it would be like to fight the Fallen once they’d had time to heal from the battle. Once they’d had time to properly organize.

The Fallen had time on their side, certainly. For the angels could not enter Pandemonium. They could only wait and watch.

The angels spent their time mending themselves, and preparing for the next wave of fighting. In the dim light, he could see Sandalphon polishing his armor for what must’ve been the fiftieth time. Uriel wiped her spear. Again. And again.

Demon’s blood was thick and hard to remove, but Uriel’s spear was clean. Still, she cleaned it. And cleaned it. And cleaned it.

Minus a skeleton force left to guard the Garden, the rest of the Heavenly Host watched the black iron gates. No sign of Lucifer, leader of the rebellion, but that was expected. Gabriel knew that Michael had gotten a good hit in, a sucking chest wound, and Lucifer would still be nursing it. No sign of any of his generals, if he even had generals. They were not organized in their attack. Perhaps he had not named any.

Gabriel was standing silent sentry with Michael. They’d run out of things to say to each other, and remained alone with what were undoubtedly similar thoughts.

Gabriel saw some movement beyond the gate and alerted Michael. Michael shouted an order, and then the cry went up. Armor and spear points gleamed in the low, gloamy light of the cavern. The angels assembled quickly, metal clanking as they fell into formation.

Michael didn’t speak beyond making his order. His eyes were wide in the dark. Fear emanated off of his corporation, and that told Gabriel everything that he needed to know. Michael had already done the same mental calculus that Gabriel had. He was not looking forward to the resumed battle.

But Michael carried a greater burden than Gabriel. If his spear had been just a bit truer, they would be done with all of this.

Someone approached the gates from the other side, a shadow, whip slim. Behind that shadow, a mass of darkness congealed. The Fallen Host.

Their leader turned out to be a file clerk that Gabriel vaguely remembered from Heaven. Androgynous in form, though preferring the feminine pronouns. He couldn’t put a name to her.

The dim light played on her fiery hair and her very white, very pointed, and very numerous teeth. The Fall had made them all into monsters. Her robe was black, and she carried a scroll and feather pen in her hand.

“Parley?” she asked through the bars on the gate, eyes glittering in the torchlight of the enemy camp.

“Speak,” Michael replied.

She let a long-fingered hand drift to her chest. “Dagon,” she said, introducing herself. “Lord of the Files and Master of Torments. I doubt you’d remember me, so it’s best to mind our manners, don’t you think?”

Michael snarled, and Gabriel was unnerved by the casual politesse (and frank toothy malice) of Hell’s emissary. “Speak or begone,” Michael said.

“Very well. We want you to leave.”

“We’re here to fight until the last of you is destroyed.”

“No argument there,” said the clerk, nearly amiably. “We’d just prefer to do it on the middle realm.”

“No. That is where OUR FATHER is keeping Her most prized, and you will not sully that place with your presence.”

“We propose--“

“You have no right to propose.”

“And yet, we do. You can just stay here, you know. Forever.”

Michael went silent, hatred burning cold in his eyes.

Gabriel spoke, “What, exactly, are you proposing?”

Dagon handed the scroll over. “All fighting to take place in the middle realm. You take your army and go away. You’re making the imps nervous.”

“Imps?”

“Small things that live down here. They’re quite lovely.”

Gabriel looked at the scroll. The contract, in tiny and meticulous script, outlined plans for the angels’ retreat to Heaven, for the Fallen (who had taken the title of Daemon) to remain in Hell, and for neither to encroach uninvited onto the territory of the other. That all future fighting would take place in the middle realm. Beyond that, the demons agreed to refrain from murdering the humans.

“No blackened CLAW, nor infernal TOOTH, nor daemonic STEEL, nor FYRES OF HELL shall EVER know the taste of human flesh and blood, even unto the End of Times,” it read. A better deal than they could have expected, and yet--

“Why should we sign this, when you’re the ones who are cornered?” Gabriel asked.

“Hell wishes to challenge Heaven to one-on-one combat. Our champion against yours. If we win, you sign the contract and leave. If you win, we open the gates and surrender, unconditionally.” Dagon shrugged. “Those are our terms. I await your answer.”

“We’ll do it,” Gabriel said, quickly. Michael took a sharp breath and swore, but Gabriel continued. “Name your champion.”

“Prince Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies.”

“Aren’t...aren’t you the Lord of the Flies?” Gabriel asked.

“No, you twit. I’m the Lord of the Files.”

“Beelzebub...” Uriel said, sotto, having crept up behind Gabriel. “I don’t recall an angel by that name.”

“I don’t recall a Dagon, but there she is,” Michael replied, sourly. “Gabriel, are you certain?”

“Yes. We can end this.”

“Fine,” Michael said. “Who among us will fight?”

“I will,” Sandalphon said.

“No, me,” said Michael. “I’ll finish what I started, I swear it.”

“No,” Gabriel said. “I will.” He handed the scroll to Michael, who took it in hands shaking with fear for Gabriel or with rage at being denied a chance for redemption. “We shall send our best. And you shall send whoever you have, I suppose.” His voice was bold and brassy in the near-dark. “Send out this champion of yours.”

Dagon nodded. “All hail, Prince Beelzebub. Lord of the Flies.”

The Daemonic Host screamed, and the sound was rusted and metallic. A great shadow, a cloud of darkness, rose up behind the shrieking demons. It took a shape, vaguely like that of a six-winged Seraphim. Black, but with eyes that burned Hellfire, they surveyed the cheering troops before floating over them.

The Prince of Hell, though seeming solid, floated THROUGH the bars of the gates. They were twenty feet tall if they were an inch, and Gabriel tried to swallow his doubt.

It stuck in his throat, cold and greasy.

“Er...You then?” he asked hoarsely.

The shadow dipped their head, in acknowledgment of Gabriel or in agreement. He was not certain. He clutched his spear more tightly.

“I will not hesitate to end you,” he said, and the cheers of his fellows echoed against the cavern walls. They bolstered Gabriel’s courage.

The Prince of Hell gave another nod, and spoke to him with a strange voice. It sounded like the buzz of a million insects, emanating from the chest of the demon. “You will not die today, Archangel,” they said. “Death izz a releazze. It should be begged for.”

The demons roared, and Gabriel felt cold inside.

“You shall live with thizz failure. For eonzz to come,” said the Lord of the Flies. “Come, pezzt. Let’zz get on with it.”

The angels gave the two opponents a wide berth. From behind Pandemonium’s gate, Dagon spoke.

“Single combat until surrender. Any interference from either side results in an automatic forfeit on behalf of the interloping side. Archangel Michael is to be trusted with the contract until the combat is decided. Contract to be signed and sealed in the usual fashion. Questions?”

Michael shook his head, “No.”

Gabriel likewise shook his head. The Prince of Hell remained still as a stone, and yet the blackness that made them up seemed to ripple in the weak light of the cavern.

“Come forth, Michael, to agree to the terms of combat on behalf of the angels,” Dagon said. She spoke precisely, gravely.

Michael stepped to the gate, and lowered his magnificent head to brush the dangerous lips of the demon with his own. He stood straight and returned to his place, watching Gabriel shift his weight, and test his grip on the spear.

“The Archangel Michael shall be allowed to call the battle,” Dagon said. “Lord Beelzebub, are you prepared?”

“Yezz, Dagon.”

“Then at your signal, Michael.”

Michael shot a look at Gabriel, who gave him an amiable, confident smile. “Whatever it is, I’ll kill it,” he said.

“We’ll zzee.”

Michael shuddered, but stood straighter. “Ready?” he asked.

Gabriel nodded, turning his attention to the roiling cloud before him. “Let’s do this.”

Michael inhaled, and screamed, “BEGIN!”

Gabriel sank into combat position, and struck out with his spear. The spear disappeared into the black of his opponent’s body, and the demon shrieked.

The angels cheered and the demons hissed. Both pressed a bit closer to the battleground, trying to get a good look at the wounded demon prince.

Triumphantly, Gabriel shoved the spear further and twisted it, earning him another agonized cry from the demon. The spear sank deeper and deeper, as the creature fell to their knees, wailing. Their wings drooped, and their essence seemed to float away on the warm currents of the cavern air. It collected in blobs along the stony wall.

The spear kept sinking into the demon, now without any help from Gabriel. The shaft left his hands, pulled into the demon by forces unknown. Gabriel’s spear was gone now, fully enveloped inside of the demon. The denizens of the cavern waited in a silence deeper than the shadows of Hell.

The demon’s wailing changed into a beautiful and melodic sound. Laughter.

“My turn,” the demon said, and exploded.

Small flying things, the essence that Gabriel had seen floating away from the “spear wound”, clouded him. He could not see anything but tiny, dark, chitinous bodies and silver wings. Soon, he could not see even that. Nor could he hear anything past the buzzing.

They were crawling. Underneath his polished armor. All over his skin. He tried to crush them with his fists, but there were too many.

The first prick felt like fire, and then there were more. All over his body. Tiny pricks, burning him. Stealing his blood. His life.

He opened his mouth to scream, and then they were inside him. Biting and stinging. He clawed at his armor, trying to smash as many of them as possible. They were in his ears, his nostrils, any hole that they could find, they filled. He threw his helm away from himself, and struggled with the buckles of his breastplate. He freed himself from it. The breastplate fell to the stones with a clatter. Gabriel shredded his battle raiments, screaming and tossing the rest of his metal armor away.

He wriggled, naked. Clawing at his skin. Slapping at them. Trying desperately to destroy as many of these creatures as he could.

They were drinking him. He could feel it. Taking his angelic essence. Surely, it cost them their tiny lives. But there seemed to be no end to them, and Gabriel was growing weaker with every bite. He felt the world tilt and spin. He pitched forward onto the warm stones of the cavern. Tiny wounds swelled on his skin. His vision was clearing, as the creatures died. He could see the stones littered with the bodies of the daemonic flies. He could see the smears of his own blood where he’d crushed one or another.

His hearing returned as the creatures died. He could hear Michael and Uriel crying for him. The angelic Host were weeping and tearing their clothes. Distantly, the demons were cheering.

A tear slipped from his eye. His whole body was on fire, and he was too weak to move. Face-down on the stones, he waited for whatever came next. Hopefully, it would be quick and he would be back in the arms of his Father.

“Zzurender?” the demon asked from somewhere very far away.

“Never!” Michael cried. “Fight the demon! They are nothing without their...insects! Gabriel! Gabriel!”

A stillness settled over him. All of the shiny black carcasses disappeared. The living creatures alighted from his skin. Gabriel could not move. He was too weak. He waited. It would be soon, whatever the Prince of Hell planned to do to him.

Pale feet, small and bare, approached his face. A filthy hem, ragged and sprinkled liberally with the black blood of the demons and the golden blood of angels, whispered over the stones. The feet paused, then turned and left his vision.

Gentle hands rolled him over. Back flat on the stones, he could make out the ceiling of the cavern. It was bleary in the distance. Until he realized that it wasn’t bleary, just covered in those shiny black creatures. The insects looked ready to feast on the blood of every angel in attendance.

A soft weight settled on his chest. Two gloriously blue eyes, the color of a clear sky, peered through a thicket of shiny black hair. Prince Beelzebub’s pale face was dirty, smudged, but remarkably intact for a demon. Their body still smelled, faintly, of the green and growing things in the garden.

The demon’s wings, flecked with blood of gold and black, remained tucked behind them as they grabbed Gabriel’s neck, drawing his head up. Beautiful blue eyes, peering deep into his own. Lips, which turned down a bit naturally, now curled up in one corner.

Gabriel felt that this creature could see his soul and found it lacking.

“Fear not,” they said. Their voice was so low that he knew the other angels would not hear. A gentle voice, achingly tender and free of all malice. “You shall not die thizz night, azz I promizzed.”

And the touch of their cool hands across his puffed flesh (where he still leaked golden blood) felt like a benediction. He was delirious, surely. He closed his eyes as they thumbed over the bites on his eyelids. Gabriel was too weak to call out his surrender. He could not speak. He whimpered his pain at this soft, small, Fallen on his chest.

A chill touched the delicate flesh beneath his left eye. He opened the eye to look. There was a knife, small and sharp and unadorned, in the hands of the Fallen. The point dipped into the soft skin under his eye.

“Zzign the contract, Michael. Or I zztart removing chunkzz.”

Gabriel didn’t think that they wanted do it, but he knew that they would not hesitate if Michael refused their order. Michael scribbled something on the scroll. “It is done,” Michael said.

“Not quite.” The Fallen lowered Gabriel’s head to the stones. They slipped their knife into their sleeve and slid down Gabriel’s body. He felt them grab his wrists and yank him up to a sitting position.

They were not unkind in their movements, but it was not a gentle maneuver. Gabriel’s head drooped, and his shoulders slumped, so the demon kept a hand on his chest, holding him up.

They straddled his lap, and their free hand went to his face. Cool, gentle fingers ran over his lips. Their own lips followed their fingers. Their breath tasted sweet, and their warm lips lingered a bit longer than was strictly necessary.

From the demon’s touch or from the blood loss, Gabriel began to shiver. They lowered him back to the stones, gently. Tenderly, almost.

“We are zzatizzfied,” they said, climbing off of Gabriel. He watched them through his dim vision, as they stepped over to collect the scroll from Michael. “You may leave. He will require azzizztanzze.”

“My...spear...” Gabriel managed weakly. “Armor...”

“Oh, you mean my trophiezz?” The Fallen said, with a faint suggestion of cruelty. “Heal thyzzelf, Archangel. Come back when you have zzomething that we want. Perhapzz, I shall fight you again.”

Gabriel groaned. He’d lost his weapon. That was inexcusable for any angel, but especially for an Archangel.

The Lord of the Flies turned their attention back towards Michael. “Now leave uzz, and hurry up about it,” they said. “You might want to zzee what’zz going on in the Garden. You know, the one that you were zzuppozzed to be guarding?”

“But you’re all here!” Michael exclaimed.

“Are we?” said Prince Beelzebub. And they laughed their joyful, melodious laughter again.

Their whole form dissolved into tiny black creatures and slipped back through the gates of Pandemonium. A cry went up amongst the demons as their lord joined the celebrations.

The angels prepared their retreat, and Michael glared down at Gabriel. “Pathetic,” he muttered.

“Now what?” Uriel asked.

“We leave. I signed that damnable contract, and he sealed it. We have no choice.”

“Do you think,” Uriel asked, “that they lured us here to leave the Garden unguarded?”

“Possibly, but I don’t see what harm they could have done that Our Father could not repair,” Michael snapped. “Sandalphon, carry him. We’re leaving.”

Gabriel felt Sandalphon’s strong, sure hands lifting him from the stones. As the gates of Pandemonium faded from his vision, he was left with the memory of gentle hands and warm lips that tasted, faintly, of honey.


	2. The Bride of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel are sent to destroy a pagan temple in the city of Enoch. But Gabriel has been struggling with strange dreams since he lost his battle with the Lord of the Flies. Prince Beelzebub is in the city on business, which gives the two a chance to catch up.
> 
> CW: SEVERE MISGENDERING BECAUSE BIBLE CANON GOD IS A VILE MISOGYNIST

City of Enoch, Late Spring, 3586 BCE

* * *

The city seemed calm and peaceful at night, as the three Archangels walked through it. A few dogs barked and a baby cried out for feeding. The water lapped at the shore; the reed boats rising and falling as the water breathed in and out. In and out. A few night birds called for their mates beneath the cloudless sky.

The sounds were gentle and normal. Night in the great city of men.

Michael led them from the salt-smelling docks, mostly because it made her feel better to be in the lead. She was still chaffing because God had forced her into a female corporation after the angels failed to protect the Garden. Her bitterness grew because God had placed Gabriel in charge of the remaining angels (in spite of losing a battle with the Demon Prince, and in spite of losing his spear). The female must always submit to male, said God. And that Michael needed to learn some humility. Michael was not very good at submitting (nor humility), and Gabriel rarely cared to force the point.

So far, Gabriel’s only punishment for losing his spear had been that God refused to make him another. And, of course, this new assignment. As much joy as serving God gave him, Gabriel did not enjoy his sudden inheritance of Michael’s place. Michael was becoming increasingly sour, and Gabriel’s work was endless now.

Though, the endless toil was probably for the best. He couldn’t chance sleeping anymore. The demon haunted his slumber. The ghost of their lips and hands found him in the quiet times, and left him with a need that he couldn’t name. That he dared not name.

All of the wounds from their insects healed, minus the first. Just above his collarbone, on the sensitive skin where his neck joined his left shoulder, there remained a single golden dot. It might be a freckle, or just one of the blooms of gold that adorned angelic skin.

But it wasn’t. Gabriel knew what it was. It was their mark on him. Something to remember the battle and the demon by. Some attachment that the demon had left on his skin, and was using to visit him.

On those sweaty, frustrating nights when his sleep was stolen by the demon, he woke up clutching that spot. Wishing, where he hoped that God could not see, for the demon’s hands and lips to return there. Wishing for those hands and lips on all of the other delightful places that the demon sought out in his dreams.

He told no one of the demon’s nocturnal visits. Weakness was not tolerated in this new Heaven. Gabriel simply stopped sleeping. Became more efficient that way.

The city, however, slept quite well. Ignorant of the angels among them, the denizens of Enoch fell into deep, dream-filled sleeps, courtesy of Uriel.

The city’s walls were stone, but most of the buildings were reed and mud houses. The smoky light of torches and grease lanterns flickered. This is where Cain had built a home for his children. Where Cain had made those children, having been gifted with a wife from...somewhere? Gabriel wasn’t certain of the details, but why would he be? God’s plan is unknowable. Ineffable.

God gave Cain a wife, and Cain had children, and those children built a city. That was a few generations ago. Now, Cain’s family was causing God some bother, and She’d sent Her best to deal with it.

Even in the wan light of the moon, they could see the ziggurat. It rose above the huts and smaller stone buildings.

“Foolish,” Uriel hissed. “They built it on sand. Should be nothing to topple it.”

“That’s human pride for you,” Michael agreed. “They think they’re smarter than the Creator, but they build something like that. To honor some made-up god! Idiots.”

Gabriel shrugged, but remained silent.

They walked down the wide, rutted dirt pathway that went from the docks to the temple. The lights of silent homes winked at them as they passed. The city guard, long accustomed to traders, allowed them through without any questions. In the night, they were simply three cowled strangers walking to the temple. The guards would not think them special or dangerous. Many went to the temple to thank the gods for their safe travel, or to ask some other favor.

As they approached the temple, Gabriel marveled at the size of it. It was taller, perhaps, than the walls around Eden. According to other angels, Watchers sent to keep an eye on humanity, the local humans were trying to build a stairway into Heaven. Gabriel did not think that the humans intended anything that grand. He thought that the curious little beasts were just building this temple to see how high they could build it. At any rate, they’d built it too high. God needed them to learn a lesson before all of the humans tried to do the same thing.

Gabriel recognized the markings on the temple stone. His stomach dropped. The tower was Hers--the other capital “H” her in the world.

“Lilith...” Uriel spat. “Should’ve known.”

“How else did you think Cain got a wife?” Michael asked. “It must have been the Lamia. All of his children are tainted.”

“They are tainted anyways, by the sins of their father,” Gabriel replied, gazing up at the thin smile of the moon that hung over the temple. “Let us be done with this, and be gone. The night is Her time.”

“The moon is thin,” Uriel said. “She is not at Her full power. Yet, perhaps we should wait? Until the sunrise?”

“No,” Michael said. “It’s to be done at night. God said so Herself.”

“The priests are all inside,” Gabriel said. “They’ll be crushed. It’s part of Her plan.”

“What’s our plan, then?” Uriel asked.

“It’s to be struck down with lightning. That’s me,” Gabriel said. “I suppose that the two of you should go after anyone who manages to make it out.”

“Agreed,” Michael said.

Uriel nodded and her golden spear formed in her hands. “There should be a back entrance.”

“No survivors,” Michael said as her own spear appeared.

“If Lilith should show up, get back to Heaven,” Gabriel said. “Don’t wait for me.”

“Gabriel...” Michael said. “Lilith is more powerful than that fly beast. Perhaps you shouldn’t face her alone.”

Gabriel wasn’t planning on facing anybody. He planned to be done with this errand and back home. Quickly. But Michael knew that. She was so desperate to prove herself worthy of a male corporation that she welcomed an attack by the Lamia.

“It’s...an order. Don’t wait for me. We won’t be able to see each other. If Lilith shows up, you flee.”

“It will take some time for us to find the back door,” Uriel said.

“I have to gather the clouds,” Gabriel said. “You have that long.”

Michael and Uriel nodded, and turned to go.

He would give them plenty of time to locate the other entrance...entrances...of the temple. Then he would strike. He gathered the clouds, slowly. He didn’t want to frighten the other people of the city. They might run to the temple, and he didn’t want them to do that. It must look like a typical spring storm, rolling in from over the water.

Gabriel watched his clouds slide darkly over one another, swallowing the moon and stars. Lightning jumped from one to another. The movement of the clouds reminded him of the slide of flesh over flesh.

He could smell flowers, the green and growing things of the Garden. The smell of the demon. They were haunting his waking hours now, as well?

Gabriel was startled to see the small figure suddenly beside him, cloaked in black. The Prince of Hell stood still and silent, watching the clouds with crystal blue eyes.

“You...” Gabriel said.

“Yezz, me,” the demon said. “Of courzze. Why would I not be here, Archangel?”

“This...has nothing to do with you.”

“I dizzagree,” Prince Beelzebub said. “I have buizzinezz here.”

“What business?”

“My buizzinezz. That’zz all you need to know.”

Gabriel frowned at the Prince, wishing to know more, but doubting that he’d get a response. This was obviously a test of some sort. The demon could have waited in the shadows, but they chose to approach him. This infuriated Gabriel, and his real question sprang from his lips before he could stop himself.

“Why are you haunting me?” Gabriel asked, and his voice sounded far more petulant than he intended.

“Haunting you?” the demon asked, laughter in their voice. “You think highly of yourzzelf. You are only in my thoughtzz when I happen to lay eyezz upon the zzpear and armor that I captured from you.”

“Lies!” Gabriel roared, leaning over the Prince who regarded him with a mirthful smirk. “You come to me in my sleep. You do...THINGS to me!”

The demon’s eyes widened in surprise. “I do thingzz to you? What izz it that I do to you? In your zzleep?”

Gabriel flushed. “You already know. You just want me to speak it.”

The demon smiled, lips spreading over their even, white teeth. Their small hands caught one of Gabriel’s, and the clouds above them stopped moving.

“Whatever izz happening to you in your zzleep, Archangel,” the demon said, voice light and sweet. “It’zz not my doing. You dream of me becauzze you wish to dream of me. Did it never occur to you that I might be the only perzzon to ever touch you with kindnezz?”

“You. Are. A. Demon!” Gabriel hissed, although the demon was probably right. “You are not capable of kindness! And anyways, you marked me!”

“I did what now? Show me.”

Gabriel pulled his hand away from the demon and pulled his cowl down. “Right there! That’s the first place that one of your nasty little insects bit me!”

“Clozzer. I can’t zee.”

Gabriel obliged them, leaning down further. The demon ran a cool finger over the mark, causing Gabriel to shiver.

“That’zz a zzcar,” they said. “Have you tried to heal it with your miraclezz?”

“...No.”

“It should dizzappear if you heal it. It’zz a battle zzcar,” they lowered their lips to it, and Gabriel felt that touch race over his skin to the Effort that he never made. “Nothing elzze,” they whispered, their soft, sweet breath tickling his ear.

Gabriel’s heart hammered in his chest as the demon stepped away from him. The demon’s eyes sparkled in the night, and a small, knowing smile played on their lips.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, wanly. He cursed his weakness, and he cursed the demon, who gave him visions and nightmares and feelings that vexed him to no end. “And I want my spear back!”

“You challenge me?” the demon asked.

“Yes!” Gabriel said.

“What do you have that Hell wantzz?”

“I--what?”

“After the lazzt time, I zzaid that you might have zzomething that Hell would want. What do you have?”

“I won’t destroy this temple.”

“Bold of you to azzume that Hell doezz not want that temple dezztroyed.”

“Wait, what?”

“Anywayzz, your offer izz no good. You would never dizzobey. Even if you did dizzobey, God would zzend zzomeone elzze.” The demon reached up and cupped Gabriel’s cheek with one hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking,” said Prince Beelzebub as their hand traced his jawline and fingernails brushed the curve of his ear. “I don’t think you really want to fight me. But what you want is clozze to fighting. You only need to put a name to it to rezzieve it, Archangel.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. They were so close to him, bodies nearly touching. Their hand still roamed over his face, blessing cheeks and eyelids and the sensitive skin of his throat. A whimper escaped him.

“Alazz, Archangel, you don’t have anything that Hell wantzz. Yet.”

But their hand did not leave his face. Weakly, he asked, “Why are you touching me?”

“Becauzze I choozze to give you pleazzure. Do you want me to zztop?”

Gabriel breathed hard as he tried to avoid answering the question. Prince Beelzebub’s fingers found the soft hair at the nape of his neck. He bowed his head to let them wander, to comb through his hair, fingernails scratching his skin. He closed his eyes, and startled when he felt the light brush of the demon’s lips against his own. He opened his eyes, watching the Demon Prince watch him. Then Prince Beelzebub closed their eyes and deepened the kiss. Gabriel tasted honey, and inhaled the scent of the demon’s body. The smell of green and growing things. He closed his eyes, and surrendered, silently, to anything the Prince wanted to do to him.

Gabriel felt his wings unfurl, through the slits in the back of his robes. His clouds moved again; he could feel them. The lightning leapt from one black mass to another, illuminating the coming storm as the demon parted his lips with their own. The first drops of rain fell as the demon tightened their grip on the back of his neck, pressing themselves to him. And the great bolt of lightning struck the temple down as he felt the demon’s tongue enter his mouth.

The ground shook as the stones fell. Gabriel wrapped his arms around the Demon Prince, to protect them. But Prince Beelzebub denied his touch, immediately dissolving into their insects. They flew away from him.

“Wait...” Gabriel cried, helplessly. “Please...”

“I muzzt go,” they buzzed at him. “You should not zztay here much longer. She comezz.”

They did not have to clarify who “She” was.

Gabriel watched the cloud of insects as they hovered between the raindrops around the ruins of the temple. Souls began to float above the fallen stones. The priests and worshippers. They clustered around the Lord of the Flies, and the Demon Prince collected them in their swarm.

That’s what they were here for. The souls that would rise from the dying flesh of the crushed mortals of the city of Enoch. They were stealing the souls from Lamia. Gabriel realized that he was, at best, an amusing diversion for the Prince. The demon would continue to pursue him, to tempt him. Of that, he had no doubt.

“Gabriel! I got them! No survivors!” Michael called. Gabriel saw her waving from across the ruins, her hair a bloody banner, limp and wet in the rain. She hurried over the rain-slick, crumbled stones to Gabriel’s side.

“Good,” Gabriel called back, as Michael negotiated the rubble. “We have to leave! Lamia comes. Where is Uriel? Uriel!”

“I’m right here,” Uriel said, softly. She was nearly on top of Gabriel, and he had no idea how much of his interaction with Prince Beelzebub she had seen. “You’re right, Gabriel. We should go.”

The ground had shaken when the ziggurat fell, but that was nothing compared to the rumble of the earth now. The lightning illuminated the fiery serpent that rose from the waters. On his back, a naked woman shrieked. Her voice was the sound of mountains breaking, of glaciers cracking, of the earth splitting in twain.

Gabriel summoned a lightning strike. It carried the three of them away from the rage of Lilith, to the bright corridors of Heaven. They arrived clean and dry, because Gabriel wanted them to. He excused himself to his office for paperwork. Michael and Uriel left to do their own.

Several hours later, after submitting all of the forms that Metatron required, Gabriel collapsed into his bed. He willed the demon to take him, to soothe him, to give him passion and peace.

Instead, he fell into a deep and dreamless sleep. He woke refreshed, physically. But somehow, the absence of the demon in his dreams left him drained and hollow. He wondered if they were feeding on him somehow, stealing his life the way that they had with their insects. He curled his wings around himself, shielding his face from the always bright light of Heaven.

He still wouldn’t give a name to his need. The name was a sin. The need was worse.

Still, he touched the scar on his shoulder, the one that he could probably heal. (He knew he would never heal it.) Gabriel shivered at the memory of those small hands and those warm lips and his terrible need. Tears slipped from his eyes, unbidden, falling like the first raindrops of a storm.

Gabriel curled into himself and cursed the demon through his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hand slipped, and I wrote another chapter.
> 
> Ok, so the city of Enoch is most likely Eridu, which existed before Good Omens Earth was born. Trying to stay canon-perfect with history and theology inside of this fandom is like swallowing stones. Theoretically, it's possible. However, it's painful, weird, and bound to leave a bloody mess.
> 
> Thanks, Neil and Terry, for giving us Young Earth Creation. I hate it.
> 
> I'm not planning on updating this again for a while. (I said the same thing two days ago, but I digress.) I'm going to be so busy writing it (NaNoWriMo) that I won't have time to edit it. I don't edit when I'm writing for NaNo (alas!) 
> 
> See you around Christmas, then.
> 
> P.S. I tried writing in Comic Sans because I saw an article on how it makes you write more and faster. It really worked for me. It also made editing easier. So, heads up.


	3. The Thunder God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel is dealing, poorly, with the politics of Heaven. He's being venerated as a pagan god after his adventures in the city of Enoch. 
> 
> On the plus side, no sleeping means no dreaming of the demon.
> 
> The human world is likewise coming apart. God plans for a Great Flood to cleanse the Earth. But first, Gabriel is dispatched to deal with the children of the Fallen Watchers, and their families.

Mount Hermon, Autumn, 3004 BCE

* * *

The humans had learned nothing from the destruction of the Temple of Lamia. They persisted in sun worship, earth worship, and some even worshipped a strange trinity of a red sea serpent, Lilith, and a winged thunder god.

Worse, the Watchers had Fallen. Those that God trusted with Her most beloved had Fallen.

They’d Fallen for love, and a small part of Gabriel could sympathize. Love was supposed to be the greatest gift that God bestowed upon the world. Something pure, that could never be corrupted. But...the Watchers had not loved. Not truly. They had lusted.

Even in that, Gabriel could feel a certain empathy. But the Watchers had acted on their desires...in a foolish way...which had endangered the humans. Not so far removed from an Archangel that lost his head over a demon’s kiss and loosed a bolt of lightning that he had no control over. That lightning could have landed anywhere. Thankfully, it fell right where it needed to. It was a lucky strike.

Hateful, wretched creature, Gabriel thought. Not sure if he meant the demon or himself.

Since that night, when the Lamia and Samael had revealed themselves in the storm, the humans started building more temples and more idols, not fewer. There were cults to all of the Princes of Hell. Even the fanged scribe, Dagon, had garnered a startling number of temples and worshippers.

Worse, many worshipped the Lamia through the pagan goddesses that they built their idols to. This could only make Her stronger. This constant, painful denial of God allowed for the current state of things on Earth.

And, there was, of course, the worship of the winged god of thunder...

How many of the human women stolen by the Fallen believed themselves chosen by the thunder god? The herald of storms, the one who had announced the Great Red Serpent, and the Lamia?

The one who, in the legends, stole a trio of mortal women away with him on a bolt of silver-violet. A fierce warrior with fiery hair in shining armor, a gentle poet who fought with pen and spear, and a blue-eyed seer robed in black--the Bride of Death.

Uriel had punished Gabriel in her own way. She did not involve God. She simply shaped the dreams of the mortals until their mythology included Gabriel, and he got to watch the humans build temples and idols to him.

Some of them were remarkably good likenesses. It had not gone unnoticed in Heaven, and Gabriel had deflected comments as best he could.

The songs were worse. Some of them had trickled into Heaven, as much as the angels loved music. The songs were beautiful or bawdy. Sometimes both. Singing the first few bars of “The Fire in her Hair” around Michael was guaranteed to earn the singer a sound thrashing. Perhaps a spearing, depending on which version was sung. And how well the singer sang it.

“Come, Taste my Cold Lips” often sprang to Gabriel’s mind. It was the tale of how the winged thunder god stole away the beautiful human woman that Death chose for his bride.

Azrael knew that one, too. He knew all the verses, and the all the versions, from the twenty-hour long epic to the roadside inn bawdy. He’d hum a few bars of it, from time to time, when he felt like needling Gabriel. It reminded Gabriel of how close Azrael and Uriel had always been.

“_He knows_,” Gabriel would think to himself. “_They all know_.”

But he didn’t let himself dwell on the demon and he refused to let his coworkers’ teasing get to him. Gabriel didn’t sleep after the night of no dreams. He would not make an easy target of himself.

As for his coworkers, they’d been kept busy. The demons flourished, worshipped as a number of pagan gods. They were burning little children alive in the valley of Gehenna to worship Moloch. Death was everywhere, and so was Azrael. Uriel had been tasked with granting visions to the True Believers, that they would make beautiful images and songs for the worship of God.

Gabriel’s own conscience alternated between heavy and light. He knew that he was weak for the demon, and that the demon tempted him to sin. Had successfully tempted him to sin. Dreadfully, causing him no end of mental anguish. It was so easy for them to give him earthly pleasure, but it would be. They were a demon. That’s what demons do.

And yet, they were right. Who else ever touched Gabriel with kindness? Who had ever been tender to him? The word reverence came to him, perversely, when he though on the demon. Who had ever treated him reverently? Even when he was face down on the stones outside the gate of Pandemonium, the Prince of Hell had been respectful. Their touch had been curious, but the way that they touched his face reminded him of how the humans touched the faces of their false gods.

Who had ever treated Gabriel like something that precious? Was it any wonder that he always felt an inch away from Falling?

In the end, he put it in God’s hands. God knew everything, and he hadn’t been disciplined. He’d told the Metatron that he’d bound a contract of mutual noninterference with the demon, which required the kiss. He’d edited Uriel’s reports judiciously. So, he had not faced a review, nor any disciplinary meetings, nor mandatory counseling.

Gabriel continued leading the angels, following God’s orders, and toiling for Her glory.

Unfortunately, the world had fallen to pagan idol worship.

Well, that was unfortunate for God and all things good and holy, but maybe fortunate for Gabriel. The idol worshippers kept him quite busy, ferreting out and cleansing the really awful sects. The child eaters and the baby sex cults. All of the things that represented the worst of human indulgence.

A few angels had Fallen, since the War. Some were vainglorious creatures, who enjoyed being worshipped as pagan deities. Some were driven mad by the war and lusted for blood. The Watchers, though, represented the largest single group that had Fallen. Two hundred total, twenty Archangels. Worse, they begetted monsters with the human women. Now those giants, the Nephilim, wrought havoc upon the children of Seth. They needed to be dealt with. They needed to be cleansed.

As always, God had a plan.

Uriel had already been dispatched to whisper the plans for the Ark into Noah’s sleeping ear. She was there, invisibly guiding his hands as he built. Gabriel thought that this was good. Uriel would be totally in her element with this assignment.

And out of Gabriel’s hair.

Michael was sent to bind the Fallen Watchers. God ordered Michael to leave the traitors in a dark place, until She saw fit to judge the lot of them. The Watchers had sworn a pact that they would share the punishment for their actions equally. God Herself was beholden to certain pacts. This one was sworn with blood and kisses. God was likely to honor it.

Gabriel thought that this course of action was prudent and good. Michael needed to be back in combat, doing what she did best. The blood ran hot in her, and the battle lust was as close to the surface as a paper cut.

As for Gabriel, God had commanded him to build a bigger storm than he ever had before. He was to call down a flood. A great flood. THE Great Flood. Gabriel was tasked with raising a storm that was as fierce as Her anger.

This course of action worried him. Gabriel never questioned his orders. At least, not out loud and never in his prayers, but he did question them in his heart.

He didn’t pity the unbelievers. Not even the animals and children who would die. If God commanded it, then it must be good. No, his concern was in ceding, even temporarily, so much territory to Lamia.

Lilith’s realm was the sea. Her garden was down there somewhere. Who knew what She was capable of, given forty days and forty nights, and all the lands of the world? What She might do when it was all covered in water?

Well, the Great Flood was his second assignment. His first assignment was to kill the biters and reprobates. Meaning the bitey Nephilim and their mortal families.

God had gathered them here, using lesser angels to capture them. The angels placed them in two caverns in the mountain where the Fallen Watchers had sworn their vow. The Nephilim were kept in one, and their human families in another. The hard work had been done, and now they waited in their caverns, huddled, for God’s judgment.

Gabriel appeared on the mountain road in front of the two caverns in a blinding flash of silvery-violet lightning.

A seraph waited for him with a list. The list. All of the names of the Nephilim, their wives, their children, their wives’ families, their children’s wives families. All told, it was a little over ten thousand people.

“All accounted for?” Gabriel asked. He scanned the document and saw that they were, but he knew that asking was expected. So he asked.

“Yes,” said the seraph. “The Nephilim are in that cavern, and the reprobates in this one.”

“Good work,” Gabriel said, brightly. “Go forth now, and aid Noah in his project. The Lord had called him to collect two unclean beasts, one of each sex, from all of the animals of the Earth. You will help him populate his Ark. Go forth, and be God’s unseen hands.”

“By the light of God,” said the seraph and saluted before taking wing. The rest of the angels followed, and Gabriel was alone on Mount Hermon.

It was a lovely place. The valley of the Nephilim below was green and fertile. He could see livestock dotting the green fields, ignorant that their masters were huddled in a cavern above. A stream, fed by meltwater from the mountain, burbled through the center of their small village. Fields of ripe wheat and barley extended out in hues of gold and brown.

Those fields would never be harvested.

The few humans who remained, those that God had not judged as worthy of Gabriel’s special attention, would not be there long enough to harvest anything. The Flood was coming.

He stood on the lonely mountain staring out at the village of the Nephilim, when he suddenly smelled Prince Beelzebub again. The scent of the earth. Of green and growing things. Gabriel refused to look. He waited for the demon to speak. They stood so close that he could feel the heat of their body. Could hear their breath. Could smell their sweet breath.

How could something from Hell smell so sweet? So clean?

“Well met,” the demon prince said, finally. “My zzweet huzzband.”

“Your what now?”

“My zzweet huzzband. Archangel, it’zz good to zzee you again,” they said, brightly. “They’ve written zzongzz about uzz. Have you heard?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Zzome of them are quite good.”

Gabriel quirked a eyebrow at the demon, his distaste very clear.

“Weren’t you zztaring at the temple, juzzt now?” they asked, pointing down at one of the larger buildings in the valley. “It’zz dedicated to the Winged Thunder God and hizz wivezz. They gave the Bride of Death her own temple. It’zz over there.”

They pointed to a smaller temple, nearly adjoining the Thunder God’s temple. Just as they were nearly touching him.

“They made me the Bride of Death, zztolen by the winged Thunder God. Dezzpoiled by you, actually. Quite colorfully in a few of their zzongzz.”

Gabriel flushed. “That’s Uriel’s doing. She saw us. Gave the mortals those dreams.”

“Hm..?” said Prince Beelzebub. “Izz she jealouzz?”

“You think this is funny?” he asked. “I’m a laughingstock in Heaven!”

Prince Beelzebub shrugged. “Important men alwayzz attract detractorzz.” Their hands slipped around his left arm. “Zzee it azz a perverzze compliment. Nobody would care about you, if you weren’t effective.”

Gabriel pulled away from them. “This is your fault. I told them we sealed a contract. Mutual noninterference. I LIED TO METATRON! That’s practically lying to the Face of God.” He turned to face the Prince, who looked up at him with guileless blue eyes. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Prince Beelzebub asked.

Gabriel frowned deeply. “No, you would not.”

They laughed at him, grabbing his hand and pressing warm lips to the knuckle. “The humanzz make zztories and zzongzz and godzz and templezz and idolzz to make zzenzze of thizz world. You’re crozz with them for their nature, Archangel. God made them thizz way. Be mad at Her.”

“They were made to take in Her word and to worship! These are lost lambs!” Gabriel shouted. “They took one of God’s creatures, one of her highest, and made me into a pagan god! And I’m just supposed to forgive that?”

“I thought angelzz were zzuppozzed to be beingzz of divine love?” the demon asked. “That includezz forgivenezz.”

“What do you, a demon, know about love?”

The demon laughed, as melodic as ever, but with a bitter edge to it. “More than you’d think, zzweet angel. More than YOU’RE allowed to know about love, I azzume.”

Something dark and vile rose up in Gabriel, nearly strangling him. He could name the emotion, though he had never before felt it. He had no idea how painful it could be.

Jealousy.

The demon had a lover.

Why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t they have as many lovers as they wished? They were demons, and he had to stop elevating them above the dirt he walked on. They were a demon, a defiler, a vile creature who turned their back on God. Demon was the position that they had chosen. They were an opponent. They were...holding his hand again. He glared down at the demon’s tiny hands, stroking his fingers, and felt that terrible (wonderful) warmth travelling from fingers to face to chest.

“Jealouzz,” they said, and it wasn’t a question. It was an appraisal. “Zzweet angel...”

“Stop,” he said, and shook them off of him. “What are you here for?”

There was a hurt in their eyes. He knew they were faking it. They were a demon. They could not love.

“I’m here for them,” they said, and spread their arms to indicate the two caverns that waited behind them.

“For the souls?”

“Yezz, but...”

“But what?”

Prince Beelzebub went to Gabriel. Slowly, they twined their arms around his waist, burying their face in his chest. Gabriel cursed his weakness, and his hands went to the Fallen’s shoulders, shoving them away. Harder than was strictly necessary.

“Pleazze,” they said, their voice cotton-soft. “I’ve come to azzk zzomething of you. A...kindnezz. If you muzzt do thizz, be merzziful to them.”

“Why do you care about these people so much?”

“The Watcherzz,” they said, not moving away from his hands. Not slipping his grasp, and not reaching for him, either. They watched his face. “We were friendzz. Many of them were my friendzz. They could not help me when I Fell, but perhapzz, I can help them. In thizz zzmall way.”

Gabriel huffed, but the Demon Prince continued.

“Why do I need a reazzon for my compazzion, Archangel?”

“Because you’re a DEMON!” Gabriel hissed.

“I zztarted out juzzt like you.”

“You are NOTHING like me.”

“Thizz izz true. I wouldn’t kill a cavern full of babiezz and their zzobbing motherzz, no matter who gave me the order.”

“Sure. You’re very convincing, you know that? I can almost believe you.”

“Archangel, who do you think dezzigned that contract? Who do you think demanded that the humanzz be allowed to zzurvive?” their voice was pained. Desperate.

“Demons kill humans every day,” Gabriel spat.

“Fewer than you think,” they said. “Humanzz create great mizzery amonzzt themzzelvezz, with very little encouragement from uzz. Azz for the demonzz who kill the humanzz, unfortunately, they Fell later. They are not bound by oathzz zzworn before their Fall.”

Gabriel felt a sudden, unbidden urge to tighten his hands around the Demon Prince’s throat.

“Would it make you feel better?” they asked. Now, their hand found his face. The touch was electric. He yanked himself away from them, but their other hand found the back of his neck and held him in place. They were frighteningly strong for their size. “Zztrangle me a little? Do you think that would give you zzome relief?”

“How’d you know what I was thinking?”

“Your handzz were twitching. I know what that meanzz.” the demon sighed. “Bezzidezz, I can feel your rage. I know what that meanzz, too.”

Gabriel sighed. He didn’t want to kill Prince Beelzebub. His hands went slack, then fell to his sides. “I want you out of my head.”

“Do you?” Prince Beelzebub asked.

They closed the distance between the two of them. He could smell them, that green scent of the Garden. Their arms circled his neck and they drew their knees up, wrapping their legs around his waist. They settled themselves, face to face with Gabriel, their arms resting lightly on his shoulders and their eyes resting on his.

He slipped one hand under the demon to steady them.

It was hard to breathe, this close to the demon. “You just do anything that you want, don’t you?” he asked, miserably.

The Prince leaned up, grabbing Gabriel’s shoulders to steady themselves. Warm lips pressed against his forehead. He closed his eyes. Their lips found each eyelid in turn. Then the tip of his nose. Finally, a kiss, openmouthed, to his lips. Gabriel returned the affection, hating himself for his weakness.

“Perkzz of the job, Archangel,” the demon said, when they broke the kiss. “Zzpeaking of our rezzpective jobzz, zzomething that you should know izz that you can’t feel my emotionzz.”

“What?”

“Try. You should feel zzomething right now, _nu_?” Prince Beelzebub said. “If I’m the monzzter, there should zztill be triumph, maybe contempt. Zzomething. If I am not the monzzter, then you should feel warmth. Affection. Either way, you should feel zzomething.”

Gabriel reached out with his mind. The demon spoke the truth. He couldn’t feel anything. He might as well have a stone in his arms.

“What the fuck?” he asked the demon, his voice weak from the implications.

“It wazz taken from you, with your memoriezz of me from before the War.”

“We knew each other?” Gabriel asked. He had never imagined having a past with Prince Beelzebub. They were not exactly forgettable. At the same time, Gabriel knew that the Prince was an angel once.

He must have known them.

The demon nodded, “We were colleaguezz.”

“Colleagues?” The answer honestly disappointed Gabriel. He might be able to excuse the ease that he had with the demon (and that the demon had with HIM) if they’d been close. But colleagues? Sandalphon and Michael and Uriel were his colleagues. He didn’t feel close to any of them.

“We were both Archangelzz, but my work wazz alwayzz very low.” They watched him for his reaction. He knew that they were looking for a reaction, but he had none to give. The angel life of the Lord of the Flies was entirely unfamiliar to him. “I wazz ezzentially a zzanitation worker. You liked my bugzz.”

“Your bugs?”

“Butterfliezz were your favorite.” Their face was radiant at the memory. “But you liked my beezz, too. Well, their honey, anywayzz. You weren’t fond of many zzweetzz, but you were abzzolutely weak for honey.”

“Is that why you taste like honey?”

“No, I juzzt like it azz much azz you did,” the demon said. “I zztill keep beezz.”

“In Hell?”

The demon shook their head. “Nothing growzz in Hell. I have a garden of my own, on Earth. A realm...of sortzz...that I built. After thizz, I’ve got to pack it up. Becauzze of the flood. You should vizzit zzometime. When thingzz calm down.”

“Ah,” Gabriel said. “But how is any of this possible? God...created everything...”

“Not quite,” Prince Beelzebub said with a sigh. “But She did create me, and I created the inzzectzz. Wormzz at firzzt, then other thingzz. To help with my work. They break thingzz down. Decay them. And...zzome were zzupozzed to teach Adam compazzion.”

“Compassion?”

“If the bazztard wanted zzomething zzweet, he’d have to treat the beezz gently or get zztung.”

He remembered Adam in the Garden. He was not kind. Lilith hated him for a reason. He remembered his attempts to get honey from the bees. But Gabriel didn’t remember where the honeybees came from.

“Was I there for that? For all the bugs?”

The demon looked stricken. Their voice cracked when they said, “Every zztep.”

“So we were close? I wish that I could remember.”

“It’s by Her dezzign. She couldn’t have uzz tempting you with our feelingzz. With your memoriezz of uzz. She couldn’t have you remembering uzz azz your brotherzz and zzizzterzz.” Their hands fell on his face, touching brow and cheeks and eyelids. “Judge me by my actionzz, Gabriel. Pleazze.”

They had never spoken his name before, not in his memory, anyways. They made his name into a song. Their lips found his. Gabriel held them close as their tongues met and sparred. The heat rose in their body and Gabriel knew that he was flushed, too, when they broke the kiss.

“Not here...” he said. “It’s too open.”

“If God wanted uzz to zztop, She’d make herzzelf known,” the Prince of Hell said, kissing Gabriel again. He felt their legs tighten around his waist, and that was delightful. “Zztill, she will notizze if you zzlack off on your work. How were you planning on killing them?”

“Well, if I had a spear...”

“Are you challenging me?” the demon asked. Their legs tightened around Gabriel’s waist again. They moved against him, rubbing against the place where he’d have an Effort, if he’d ever made one. “You without a weapon? All alone on a mountainzzide? That’zz dangerouzz, don’t you think?”

Gabriel caught the demon by the mouth, initiating for once. He loved the sweetness of their lips, the tongue that stroked his own. Gabriel was dizzy with the taste of them. He pressed them against the mountainside, freeing his hands to explore. The demon whispered his name as he lowered his lips to their neck, as his hands opened their robes and ran along the soft flesh of their chest. Their hands in his hair guided him down. Their skin tasted sweet and they kept calling him by name as he sought more flesh to kiss. Their breasts were flushed and swelling. Nipples tight under his fingers. Their flesh invited his touch and his kisses. They gasped when he found a nipple with his mouth. teasing with his teeth and tongue.

“Pleazze more,” they cried. “Pleazze, my angel. Zzweet Gabriel.”

Another smell rose up from them, earthier and musky. The smell of their need. He felt them rocking against him. Calling for him. Responding to his touch. The repetition of his name, surrounded by soft hisses, gasps, and buzzes. It sounded like a prayer.

Gabriel felt guilt tugging at him. A gentle tug, but not anything that he’d be able to ignore. He sighed.

“This feels like a temptation,” he said. “And I...I feel like you’re placing me above God...”

Prince Beelzebub hugged his head to their chest, and laughed. It rang out over the mountain, sweetly and melodiously. “I plazze camel shit above God, Archangel.”

Gabriel reacted to the demon’s blasphemy as if he’d been struck. Prince of Hell or not, their words made Gabriel shiver. “How can you not love God?”

“How can you love Her?” Prince Beelzebub countered. “She zzent you to murder thezze people. Your next azzignment izz a flood to end all thingzz. Little babiezz and innozzent animalzz. Everything, gone.”

“How do YOU know about the Flood?”

“Everybody of conzzequenzze knowzz,” Prince Beelzebub said with a shrug. They ran their hands over his scalp, fingernails dragging over his skin. “I hate that She makezz you do thezze thingzz.”

“I’m honored to serve,” Gabriel said. The response was automatic, but that didn’t make it any less true.

“I zzerve, azz well. I’m not honored by it.”

“You wouldn’t be. You serve Lucifer?”

“We are all Her creaturezz,” the demon said. “Camel shit and zztarduzzt are made of the same zztuff, Archangel.”

The Prince of Hell’s coarseness made Gabriel laugh in its unexpectedness. The implication of the statement, however, was straight up unnerving. “You think you’re still part of Her plan?” Gabriel asked.

“Though it painzz me, I muzzt be. I have no love for God. But I zzerve. Juzzt azz you do. We are all Her playthingzz.”

“I serve. I obey. I love God.”

“I refuzze to love Her,” the demon said. They sighed heavily. “But I zzerve Her planzz, Archangel, juzzt like you.”

“You can’t place me above God. I mean, that’s what got the mortals into trouble. That’s why God is bringing down a flood!” His voice was pinched and more panicked than he’d thought it would be. “Please, I fear for you.”

“There izz nothing that She can do to me that She hazz not already done,” the Prince said. Their voice was flat, tired. “I can zzee that there’zz to be no more kizzezz. Come, let’zz be done with thizz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm way past my NaNo wordcount target, so I have time to edit and post a couple of chapters. Hope you like them.


	4. Kosher Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love and death on Mount Hermon. Con't from the last chapter.

“I can zzee that there’zz to be no more kizzezz. Come, let’zz be done with thizz.”

Prince Beelzebub unhooked their legs from around Gabriel’s waist. Gabriel stepped back a bit to allow them to lower themselves to the mountain road. The demon closed their robes over the small, fig-tipped breasts that Gabriel, in hindsight, wished that he’d kissed more.

Proper and tidy, they took his hand and kissed it. “How do you mean to kill them?”

“There’s...uh...rocks?”

“Rockzz?” Prince Beelzebub asked. “Zzeriouzzly? Crush their headzz?”

“Have you got a better idea?”

“I azzume that I can’t do it?” Prince Beelzebub asked.

Gabriel shook his head. “No, I have to do it. God ordered me. Anyways, what about that contract?”

“The Nephilim aren’t human.”

“Oh. Them. Well, about them,” Gabriel said. “God was actually specific about how they are supposed to die. They’re supposed to fight to the death.”

“That’zz going to be difficult,” the demon said. “Zzome of them are mere children. Bezzidezz that, they’re mozztly farmers and craftzzmen.”

“Craftsmen? Seriously? Uriel and I saw their trail of destruction!”

“They are azz men. Zzome are bad, but mozzt are good, or at leazzt, inoffenzzive.” Prince Beelzebub sighed. “They are bigger and zztronger than men. Thizz izz true. The men are jealouzz of them. Zzee their valley, so green and fertile. Men grew jealouzz, and blamed the Nephilim for their own crimezz.”

“I don’t believe that. God wouldn’t order me to kill them if they were innocent.”

“You’re zzuppozzed to drown the world in a great flood, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes, but they became godless, and it must be done. If god orders it, then it must be Good.”

“In that it came from God, yezz. In that it is harmlezz, no. Anywayzz, there are children in that cavern. What have they done?”

“God can see all things, the beginning and the end. She must know that there is something wrong with them. That they’ll grow up to be evil.”

“Why not let the flood end them, then? Why zzend you zzpecial?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re exceptional swimmers?”

“Maybe She’zz realized that if they drown, Lamia will zznatch their zzoulzz away from Hell.”

“Probably that.”

“Zzeriouzzly, Archangel. If the Nephilim were zzo much trouble, She could have wiped them out a few generationzz ago.”

“You don’t think that She knew,” Gabriel said. It wasn’t a question.

“No, I do not. I do not think that She zzeezz all, but She doezz zzee more than you or me or anything elzze on this rock. That makes her God. And you zztill don’t have a plan on how to kill the Nephilim.”

“Some of them are fighters, right?”

“Well, yezz. And maybe a handful of zzmithzz, who can be fairly deadly with their hammerzz. But I’m guezzing that the angelzz brought them here nude and without their toolzz?”

“Yep.”

“That’zz going to be problematic.” The Prince pinched the bridge of their nose. “Nevermind. I’ll worry about the Nephilim. I may have a zzolution. But the reprobatezz?”

“You could give me back my spear?” Gabriel said, hopefully.

“No,” Prince Beelzebub replied, flatly. “A zzpear would take forever. Don’t you have the gift of lightning?”

“Well, yes.”

“Can you make it zzmall?”

“Small?”

“Little ballzz?”

“Never tried.”

“Never?”

“I wasn’t told to.”

“You haven't experimented with your abilitiezz zzinzze the Garden?” Prince Beelzebub asked, genuinely surprised. “But can you try now?”

“To what end?”

“There’s a cluzzter of nervezz, right here,” the demon touched the back of Gabriel’s head, where the head met the neck. “Lightning right there would kill them. It would be quick, clean, painlezz. If you muzzt zzlaughter them, do it _kosher_.”

“They’re humans!” Gabriel said, petulantly. “You don’t slaughter humans.”

“Should I zzay ‘murder’, then?”

“It’s a...cleansing. You say that you used to work in sanitation. You understand cleansing, don’t you?”

The Prince shot a withering look at Gabriel. “Maintaining the garden izz not the zzame as thizz.”

“I thought--“

“You muzzt do azz you are told, Archangel,” they said. Their tone was softer. “The blood izz on Her handzz, and I don’t blame you anymore than I’d blame the knife of a cutthroat.”

Gabriel knew that he was God’s tool. He tried to be a good one. Somehow, there was a terrible pain in what the Prince said, even if it was true. Maybe it was because of the simple truth of their words. No, it was the pity in their tone. He kicked a pebble from the road in his frustration. It bounced down the mountain.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Juzzt make it as painlezz as pozzible for the onezz in the cavern, zzweet angel.” Their eyes were full of pain and desperation. “Pleazze, try to make the lightning zzmall.”

Gabriel’s mouth was dry, and his motions automatic. The clouds gathered over them, sending the tiny herd animals in the valley below running for their shelters. The wind was cold, harsh. It whipped their robes around as they stood apart, Gabriel feeling the power rise up inside him, and Prince Beelzebub watching him intently.

The lightning came down at his command. Instead of allowing it to travel through him or using it to conduct himself to Heaven, he caught the light in his hands. He could feel it there, as obedient as a pet, sleeping between his fingers. He flung it out. Ten thousand drops of silvery-violet light. One of them about an inch away from the nose of the Prince of Hell. The demon examined it, crossing their eyes slightly to get a good look.

“Thizz,” they said. “Thizz should zzufizze.”

The demon stepped between the small, fierce points of light, to wrap themselves around Gabriel again. “Thank you. Thank you. Zzweet Gabriel, thank you.”

His arms went around Prince Beelzebub’s back, and he lowered his face to their hair. He breathed them in, trying to store up the memory of their voice, their flesh against him, their scent. Their happiness with him. With his compassion.

By God’s grace, of course. God must’ve sent the clever demon to him, must approve of this. He didn’t have any idea how to kill ten thousand mortals, and the demon just...knew. This was providence, wasn’t it?

He kissed Prince Beelzebub on the head. “We should...uh...let’s go.”

“Yezz. They’re probably terrified. It’zz unkind to leave them alone. Wingzz out, Archangel.”

Gabriel obeyed, allowing the Prince to enter the cavern before him. An infant wailed as he ducked into the cavern. It looked so much like the cavern that housed Pandemonium. Black stone walls and floor, dimly lit with torches. The humans huddled around the weak light. Frightened eyes of every hue touched each other in the dark. Eyes that he would soon be closing forever.

Gabriel’s little lights followed them, illuminating the humans and the angel and the demon. The people in the cavern gasped their recognition as the light played on Gabriel and Prince Beelzebub. Word passed from one to another until every person in the cavern knelt and whispered their prayers to the Red Serpent, Lamia, the Thunder God, and his wives. To the Bride of Death.

Gabriel had prepared a bombastic speech about the wrongs that these people had committed against God, and how She had chosen to end them. A speech to cause the idolaters to tremble. But it didn’t really seem appropriate at this point, and besides, Prince Beelzebub had already begun to speak.

“Hail,” they said. “you that are highly favored. The godzz are with you: blezzed are you among the peoplezz of the Earth. Be not afraid, for you have found favor amongzzt the Godzz. And behold! A great Flood comes upon thizz land, but you shall be zzpared. We come to take you to the realm beyond the veil!”

They smiled down at the humans, who cheered for them and for Gabriel.

“Come, zzweet huzzband,” they said, and took Gabriel’s hand in the glimmering light of his tiny lights. “I shall pray with them, and you shall lead them home.”

Prince Beelzebub knelt and the humans followed their lead. Gabriel maneuvered the twinkling sparks behind the heads of the worshippers, to the spot that the demon had showed him. The words of the pagan prayer were beautiful, melodic, and soothing. He decided to let them finish.

“Azz above, zzo below,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Azz zzay the godzz, may it be zzo.”

“May it be so!” the cavern echoed.

The sparks of light entered them, and they knew nothing else. The humans slumped to the ground, faces beautiful with peace. Their silvery shades rose from the bodies of the males. Prince Beelzebub rose from their knees and pulled a small clay jar from a pocket of their robes. They opened it, and the souls of the male reprobates were sucked inside.

“What do you do with them?” Gabriel asked, as the demon closed the jar and replaced it in their robes.

“There are zzeveral realmzz in Hell, and they are zzorted to whichever zzuits them the bezzt,” the Prince said with a slight shrug. “What doezz Heaven do with them?”

“Not my department,” Gabriel said. “We don’t have as many as you, of course.”

“Of courzze. There aren’t many zzoulzz that are truly righteouzz.” Prince Beelzebub wrapped an easy arm around Gabriel’s waist. It felt good. “Shall we deal with the Nephilim?”

“You said you have a plan.”

“I do, but you’re not going to like it.”

“I’d assume it’s better than my plan.”

“What’zz your plan?” the demon asked.

Gabriel leaned down and whispered, “I don’t have one.”

Prince Beelzebub covered their mouth and laughed, and Gabriel thought he’d spend whatever years he had trying to get them to do that again. As often as possible.

“My plan izz better, then,” the demon said when they’d managed to regain their composure. “The Nephilim are in thizz cavern, yezz?”

“Yes.”

The Prince of Hell nodded and pulled a different small jar from their robes. This one was glass, with a creamy, opalescent substance roiling inside. Prince Beelzebub uncorked it, and poured out the contents.

The essences of a hundred and eighty Fallen angels, and twenty Fallen Archangels stood on the mountain road. They looked confused.

“Gabriel?” many of them asked.

Gabriel shook his head, no. He inclined his head in a slight (probably not Godly, definitely not Godly) bow to the Prince of Hell.

“Friendzz,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Your zzuffering izz to be long, and you will all share in the Almighty’zz twizzted juzztizze, azz you agreed.”

“Demon,” their leader, Semjaza, said, “how dare you address us as ‘friends’? We know you not.”

“You did,” said the Prince. “I wazz an angel onzze. Onzze, many of you called me a friend. When I Fell, you forgot me. My name, my life amongzzt you. Juzzt as the Archangel Gabriel hazz forgotten whatever hizztory you might have shared.”

The newly Fallen whispered about this.

“What was your name?” Semjaza demanded.

Prince Beelzebub glanced at Gabriel before answering. “Remiel,” they said, softly.

“I’m Ramiel,” an Archangel replied.

“Not Ramiel, nor Rameel--I zzee you, waiting to call me liar--my name wazz Remiel.”

Gabriel translated the name automatically. “God’s Compassion,” he said, softly.

“Yezz, that’zz me,” Prince Beelzebub said. “But I’m a Prinzze of Hell now. Beelzzebub. Zztill, I come to you out of compazzion. God hazz called for the livezz of your children.”

A cry went up amongst the shades. “They are innocent!” one shade cried out.

“Zzome are, zzome are not,” the demon said. “Zzome are little children. God carezz not. She wantzz it done in a zzertain way. They muzzt fight to the death.”

Another cry from the Fallen. “She means to force us to watch?” asked Semjaza.

“No. I’ve brought you here. She knowzz nothing about thizz.”

“To what end, demon?” Ramiel asked.

“To merzzy,” said Prince Beelzebub. “Zzteal into their flesh and do God’zz will. You are zzoldiers. Forzze them to fight, to kill, and their zzoulzz will join you in Hell.”

“Their souls are Damned either way!” Semjaza cried.

“Thizz izz true,” the demon admitted. “You can do thizz thing and prevent their zzuffering, or you can do nothing, get back in your jar, and let God choozze a more painful method of execution for your babiezz. The choizze izz yourzz.”

The Watchers stared at each other, resignation heavy on their faces. “We will do as you say,” Semjaza said, and the others nodded. “Where are the children?”

Prince Beelzebub indicated the correct cavern, and the Watchers began to slip into the dark maw of it. The last shade looked at the Prince with concern.

“Prince Beelzebub, where are the rest of our families?” he asked.

“You will zzee them in Hell. They have already perished. It was painlezz,” the demon explained.

The Fallen nodded and joined his companions and their children. Dreadful noises began to come from the cavern. Snaps and grunts and the horrible sound of infants being smashed against the rocks.

Prince Beelzebub went to Gabriel and climbed back into his arms, easily as before. The Prince wanted comfort, not passion. Gabriel felt their body tense with every sickening crunch.

“You can feel them?” Gabriel asked.

“Can’t you feel the Nephilim, at leazzt?” the demon asked.

“No.”

The Prince buried their face in Gabriel’s neck, and he felt their tears fall on his skin. Gabriel had thought that demons couldn’t cry. But, he’d also been told that they couldn’t love, were devoid of compassion, and maybe that was true for most of them. His demon loved and wept and gave so freely of themselves.

His demon.

The sounds from the cavern slowed, then stopped. The demon dropped back down, out of Gabriel’s arm. They took a deep breath and wiped their face as the first essences of the two hundred newly Fallen and their children wandered out to the road.

“We’ve done as you asked,” Semjaza said. Five huge souls followed him, two male and three female. One of the females held a baby’s soul. “They’re all dead.”

“I muzzt be zzertain,” Prince Beelzebub said, and passed through several shades to enter the cavern. They were only gone for a few minutes, and then they returned. “It izz azz you zzay. They have all perished.”

The Prince withdrew the glass bottle from their robes. They uncorked it and the souls of the Fallen returned to the crystal depths. They closed and replaced the bottle, and captured the souls of the Nephilim in a clay jar the size of a small pig. How they fit something like that inside their robes was a mystery, but it disappeared back in the folds of black fabric once they were done with it. They climbed back into Gabriel’s arms, and their lips found his. A gentle kiss. Nearly chaste.

Gabriel held them close. Their breath came in soft pants. They were upset by what they’d seen in the cavern. It must have been gruesome.

“I think it will be zzome time before we zzee each other again,” the demon said. “You’ll be zzo buzzy with thizz flood.”

“I’d like to...see your realm...when this is over with.”

“I’d like that, too.”

They slipped his robes from his left shoulder, and their lips blessed the tiny gold dot that remained there. Gabriel sighed.

“You never healed it,” the demon whispered in his ear.

Their words were surprised, and their breath was hot suddenly, tickling him. Warming him all over. He turned to Prince Beelzebub and kissed them, letting them lead once he initiated. They kissed him deeply, and time seemed to stretch as they breathed each other in through mouth and nose.

When the Prince broke the kiss, their eyes were moist. “Why didn’t you heal it?” they asked.

“God made me,” Gabriel said, earnestly. “But you changed me.”

The Prince’s eyes widened. Then closed as they leaned in. Their lips brushed his.

“Tell me to zztop. I will.”

The kisses continued to fall on his face and neck, to worry deliciously at the dot above his collarbone. Gabriel felt the graze of teeth, the gentle suction of the demon’s mouth. It was delicious. And a terrible sin. A dreadful sin.

He wanted this. He did not want this. He needed...God help him...he needed to stop this.

One word would stop them. One word.

Gabriel whimpered softly as the demon continued to do...something to his neck.

“Did you zzay zzomething?” Prince Beelzebub asked. He felt their tongue gently circling the spot where their lips had been as they awaited an answer.

Gabriel breathed the thin mountain air. He should say stop. He should say stop. He should say stop.

“...More,” he said.

He felt the demon nod against him. Their lips found his neck again, and there was a bright spot of pain this time. Gabriel cried out weakly. The pain only fired his passion. He wanted more. God help him, he wanted more.

Gabriel couldn’t form a simple syllable. Four letters. Stop, he thought. But his lips and tongue would not cooperate.

He whimpered as the demon’s lips left his neck. Prince Beelzebub sat back to admire their handiwork.

“Might want to find zzome robezz with a high neck,” the Prince said mildly. “Otherwizze, there might be zzome questionzz.”

“Did you bite me?”

“No, just zzucked a bit of your blood to the zzurface,” they said. “I marked you.”

“You marked me?”

“Thizz one’zz temporary, I’m afraid. No zzcar.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve done it before.”

“To whom?” Gabriel fairly growled.

“Zzweet angel, your jealouzzy is much mizzplazzed,” the Prince laughed. “Let’zz juzzt zzay that God took zzome very interezzting memoriezz away from you.”

Gabriel certainly intended to ask more questions, but the Prince silenced him with a kiss that he knew was their last, or nearly so, for the time being. They moved slowly, opening him like a flower. Tongues darting, meeting, exploring. Gabriel leaned them against the wall and his hands found their way into the Prince’s robes again. If this would be their last moments for the next few centuries, he wanted to wring every bit of pleasure that he could from his demon.

He kissed down their jaw, to the soft skin of their neck. Down further, to the chest that the demon presented to him, their hands in his hair, their soft whispers making music in the mountain air.

He found the nipple that he’d previously neglected and kissed it, drawing it into his mouth where he could toy at it with his tongue. His demon cried his name out, and it echoed over the valley.

He wanted more, to find the place where their earthy, musky smell came from, and to kiss them there and pleasure them there. But he knew, somehow he knew, that they didn’t have enough time.

The Prince pulled his face from their chest and kissed him. “I muzzt go,” they said. “I have a lot of work with thezze new zzoulzz, and the new recruitzz. Luzzifer awaitzz my report. He’zz dangerouzz when he’zz kept waiting.”

_“I know what that means,”_ they had said when Gabriel nearly strangled them.

“Has he hurt you?”

“Of courzze, he hazz, Archangel. He’zz Zzatan.”

Gabriel’s anger rose up in him. “I...I’ll...”

“You will not. I can handle myzzelf.” Prince Beelzebub cupped Gabriel’s face in their hand. “You’ve got God to worry about, and She’zz a handful.”

They kissed him again, a light, chaste kiss goodbye. “When will we see each other again?” Gabriel asked. 

“After the flood, zzertainly,” the demon said as they slipped from Gabriel’s arms. “Azz zzoon azz you can get away. Thizz izz my zzummoning zzigil.” They pulled a card from another pocket in their robes. Gabriel took it.

“As soon as possible, then,” Gabriel said.

Lord Beelzebub laughed their sweet laughter and smiled at Gabriel. “Find the wordzz for your dezzires the next time we meet. I’ll show you all the wayzz two beingzz can kizz. And every plazze that I can kizz you.”

The demon (his demon) dissolved into a cloud of flies and flew away on the mountain breeze. The cold wind (Gabriel suddenly noticed) was thick with the coppery tang of blood and an autumn storm coming in. He stood there, with the pangs of a need he refused to name, watching for the lightning that would carry him back to Heaven, where paperwork and loneliness waited for him. In equal measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Human women don't have souls. Nephilim do. I swear, I'll explain why this world is so messed up. 
> 
> Yeah, Gabriel didn't come up with the Annunciation speech. He cribbed from Beez.
> 
> From the Book of Luke:
> 
> 1:28 And the angel came in unto her, and said, Hail, thou that art highly favoured, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women.
> 
> 1:29 And when she saw him, she was troubled at his saying, and cast in her mind what manner of salutation this should be.
> 
> 1:30 And the angel said unto her, Fear not, Mary: for thou hast found favour with God.


	5. In the Marketplace of Babylon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel wanders the marketplace of Babylon, contemplating the state of Heaven and Earth. Also contemplating the impending destruction of the Tower of Babel and hoping, desperately, to see a familiar face in the course of his duties.

Babylon, Summer, 2950 BCE

* * *

The summer sun was sweltering as Gabriel walked through the tented marketplace of the new Nun-ki. This busy marketplace, lining the main road of the second great city of men, rang out with the noises of commerce. Birds in cages and baskets clucked softly. An ox lowed and not far from Gabriel, metal clinked together as coins changed hands.

Currency was a relatively new development. A joint venture, overseen by the Ophanim Raziel and the Demon Prince Belphegor. It satisfied both Heaven and Hell, paving the way for endless temptations for the demons and fountains of charity for the angels. Meanwhile, the humans enjoyed the prosperity that came with the ability to store wealth in metal and notes.

Currency had been a bit of a disappointment for Gabriel, but that was because he had desperately hoped that he would be chosen to attend the delegation. He was not. Raziel had delivered his final report to Gabriel. All of the Princes had been in attendance of the final contract signing. He spoke highly of the demons’ hospitality, of the efficiency of the scribe Dagon.

And the continued, effusive courtesy of the Demon Prince Beelzebub.

In spite of his best efforts, a good time had not emerged in order to meet. Heaven kept him busier and busier. In spite of the Flood, which scattered the people of the Earth, the population of humans continued to grow and grow. Their cities flourished. And Nimrod the Hunter, the First Conqueror, used the chaos of the rebuilding efforts to his great advantage. The Hammite king had stolen for his own many lands and built a number of mighty cities.

Mostly, this success was due to his choice of Queen. Semiramis, with her flashing black eyes, the shining sweep of her black hair, her moon-glimmer fair skin. A beauty for the ages, but a very familiar beauty.

Some whispered that she was the daughter of the many-named Winged God of Thunder and one of his three wives (usually the Bride of Death). That was the legend, one that she gently promulgated for her husband’s gain. To that end, brilliant Semiramis chose a white dove as her symbol. The bird that ended the storm, and promised peace and prosperity.

Her true parentage was plain to Gabriel. Her quiet intellect and her piercing wit, as well as her coloring and her heart-shaped face, very clearly marked her as one of Lilith’s brood. Which explains why the fertile lands of the Lamia allowed the cities of Nimrod to flourish.

Daughter, granddaughter, many times great granddaughter--it did not matter. All of those women were intelligent, beautiful, and charming. They were also, technically, demons.

That was the great dilemma for all of human femininity on the Earth. If they were one of Eve’s daughters, they were immaculate, soulless vessels, owned by their men and expected to serve from birth to death. If they were Lilith’s, then they had souls, but were demonesses flush with the blood and sin of the Lamia. They did as they pleased, and after their lives ended, they returned to Lilith.

Minus, Gabriel assumed, the handful stolen by his brazen demon.

He missed his Prince. Their absence felt like the loss of a tooth. He ran his hands over his neck to his left shoulder, a nervous tic that he really ought to stop. Yet he returned there again and again. Just as a tongue returns to the hole where a tooth once was. Just as his mind returned to the few hours he’d spent with them on a lonely autumn mountainside. The words they’d said. The way that they’d sung his name. Their smell. Their skin.

And their quiet, unassuming kindness. Their love for old friends, and their compassion for a group of condemned strangers.

Gabriel did not know how a creature of such love, such frank divinity, could have Fallen. Perhaps he’d ask, and maybe, they’d tell him.

The night could not come quickly enough for him.

How strange, that Gabriel was wishing and hoping (and everything short of falling to his knees in prayer) that God would send him a demon. It has been many years since he’d been alone on Earth, and he longed for them.

His longings felt almost pure. Almost without shame.

After all, God knew everything. She knew his heart and who lived there. Knew every single thing that he did, in Heaven and on Earth. She had not punished him, so maybe Prince Beelzebub was wrong about God. Maybe She saw the love that radiated from his Prince, and maybe...maybe...

Maybe if an angel could Fall, a demon could rise?

It was too sweet to hope for. But they might have a few brief moments together on Earth. Gabriel hoped, and hoped, and hoped.

A street hawker was selling grilled honeycomb. The price was quite good, and Gabriel had the coin (Heaven had been generous in their stipends to the angels, and the Archangels got even more. Gabriel used most of his on acts of charity.) He bought a honeycomb for himself, and some for all of the little children playing in the dirt. They smelled sweet, the little children. Sweat and earth, the light scent of summer sunlight and the honey they licked from the comb.

Gabriel tasted the honey. He’d never found a variety that tasted quite like his demon’s lips, but this was close. He could smell roasted fruit and meat as he ate, enjoying the feel of the thick honey running down his throat. He wondered if there would be any trace left on his tongue or lips if he saw Prince Beelzebub that night. If his mouth would taste of it when they kissed him.

A naked little boy caught his eye, smiling gap-toothed, as the honey ran down his chin. Gabriel reached down for the child, running a finger over the little boy’s left eye. His touch healed what must have been an incredibly painful stye.

The little boy laughed and then ran back to his mother, babbling about the man in the rich robes who had bought honeycombs for him and his playmates. Maybe mentioning the stye, but Gabriel didn’t know.

Gabriel disappeared into the crowd as best he could. He was enormous compared to the humans. Yet, he managed. He didn’t want the woman to seek him out. Some did seek him out after he worked some small miracle or purchased a kindness for their children. They either wanted to ask for more or wanted to offer to sell him the child.

Humans could be kinder than the angels or crueler than any nightmare envisioned in Hell. Often in the same hour. Curious beasts. Dangerous ones.

The humans had brought the storm to their city with their dangerous curiosity. He walked amongst them, though nobody noticed. He’d taken a bit of a chance with the honeycomb, but the sight of little humans made his heart sing. It made him feel that, perhaps, the horrors of the Flood (his Flood, God’s Flood) were well and truly in the past.

Tall and well-dressed as he was, he still passed unseen amongst the mortals. He’d mastered the art after spending a hundred and ninety days and nights in Heaven, watching rain and then watching the floodwaters recede. It was dull work. But God insisted on that level of meticulous oversight. She did so through the Metatron, but that was the same as the Word of God.

He’d snuck around Heaven, watching and listening as they all waited for the Flood to be done. Gabriel discovered that if he kept his eyes down, nobody seemed to notice him. He used a few small miracles to make absolutely sure, and had his efforts rewarded by overhearing a conversation that certainly was not meant for his ears.

“He’s absolutely horrid at it, Azrael,” he’d heard Uriel say, in a corridor that should have been empty except for Azrael and Uriel. “He’s a miserable boss, and he’s so pathetically weak.”

“It’s bloody disusting,” Azrael agreed. “Tempted by...that thing. Bug Boy, Prince of Hell. It’s disgusting. Worse that the humans have made you and Michael into his brides.”

“I couldn’t control that, you know,” Uriel replied. “I just gave them the vision. They interpreted it. Do you really think I want to be one of _Gabriel’s_ brides?”

“No,” Azrael laughed. “No, that’s rotten luck.”

“I have no idea why God is persisting in this. Michael is so obviously the better choice for our leader.”

“You should tell her that. She love compliments,” Azrael said, leaving a chaste kiss on Uriel’s cheek. “But God _is_ persisting in this, so in spite of your amazing efforts, I think we’re stuck with this idiot.”

“’Mutual noninterference,’” Uriel sneered. “I cannot believe that lie worked.”

“God sees what She wants to, I think,” Azrael said with a shrug. “Want to go watch another few hours of water falling? We might catch up to Michael.”

“Sounds lovely,” Uriel said flatly. Her tone led Gabriel to believe that she did not find the prospect of another grey day of rain delightful at all. And yet, they started walking towards the observation area, arm in arm.

It was nice to hear Uriel’s treachery from her own lips, instead of just seeing the symptoms and assuming the cause. The truth was refreshing, almost. Confirmation was a comfort. An ice-cold one, but a comfort, nonetheless.

Gabriel spent quite a bit of time trying to find something else for Uriel to do once the water receded. In the end, she was tasked with spreading the word of God’s rainbow. (Her assignment was God’s idea, not Gabriel’s.) And she also brought God’s grand promise. That She would not drown everyone again.

Lovely. Uriel was amongst the men, carving and shaping their dreams, far away from Gabriel. Perfect.

Michael was lending her strength to the beleaguered family of Shemp. Those people seemed to be in constant battle for each little piece of land. Michael dressed like a man while she was travelling with the humans. She was taller than the males she travelled with, so nobody questioned her. She was so brutal, they’d have to be crazy to ask her anything.

Gabriel hadn’t seen either of them since the floodwaters receded enough for them to go back to work. He was glad for this. He’d been keeping Heaven going, and it was ticking right along. Dispatching angels for miracles, helping with the currency project, wherever there was a need, Gabriel filled it. To the very best of his ability.

No sleeping, but that was fine. He didn’t want to give Uriel the opportunity to dig around in his mind. In the event that she returned to Heaven while he slept.

She and Michael had the uncanny ability to know exactly when Gabriel wasn’t around in order to deliver their reports. Paperwork went to him through Metatron. That, too, was fine by Gabriel.

Now, Metatron had come to him with an assignment. That assignment had sent him to Babylon, the land that the Word of God would someday remember as being “bathed in blood.”

These were Lamia’s lands, now ruled by Nimrod and Her own spawn, Semiramis. These lands, the world of poet-warriors who built their temples to idols in shining armor, bloody-handed and victorious. These lands seemed to rebuild a great deal faster than they ought to have, but that was unsurprising. Lilith’s losses in the flood were minimal. It reminded Gabriel of what his demon had said, that everyone of consequence new about the Flood. Lilith was certainly of consequence.

Nimrod’s cities grew and grew. His love of God gave way to the pagan idol worship of his wife’s family. They’d built great temples to the Lamia, naming Her Ishtar and Lilitu and many other names. Lilith’s power became Nimrod’s power, and Nimrod’s power became Lilith’s.

In short, Nimrod had offended God. However, his offense was incredibly specific. The kind of offense that required a bolt of lightning to set it right.

While Gabriel was being kissed by Prince Beelzebub and striking down the first temple of Lamia, Uriel implanted in the minds of the sleeping denizens of Enoch that the site was sandy and poor for building. There were no other large, flat plains. So, there were no further attempts at ziggurat building. That cleverness had earned Uriel a commendation.

Unfortunately, Uriel’s message became somewhat corrupted. Not through any fault of her own. She delivered messages and prophecies, but it was up to the humans to interpret them.

The people of Enoch came to believe that Lilith ordered the temple destroyed because it was feeble, small, and unworthy of Her glory. Now, in their hubris, they built a bigger one. A tiered palace stretching to the sky, meant to honor many pagan gods. Lilith, queen of all of them, Samael the Red Dragon (a demon, once an Archangel), the Winged Thunder God, and his three wives.

In a tent, a man with three teeth left was selling tiny clay dolls. One was swathed in black, with eyes picked out in blue stones. The Bride of Death. Gabriel held the doll in his hand. If God was kind to Her servant, he’d have the real thing in his arms soon.

It was still the early afternoon. The sun stood still in the middle of the sky, baking the clay of the city and causing the people of Babylon to sweat and sigh as they wended their way through the maze of tents.

Gabriel sighed, let the little doll fall from his fingers, and prayed, silently, for the shopkeep to find the true way. To find God. He also healed the carries in his remaining teeth, and the rot in his gums. In a few months, new teeth would burst through his healed tissues, and the old man would know that Noah’s God, the living God that Nimrod set aside for cold clay statues, had healed his mouth.

His sweep of the market allowed Gabriel to get a good look at Babylon. The denizens, the buildings, and most importantly, to check for the presence of infernal powers (and ethereal as well.)

Frankly, he was in a place in his existence where the occult and the ethereal represented separate, but equal, threats to him. If Uriel or Michael decided to spy on him, that could be cataclysmic. Sandalphon was not the smartest, and could be easily tricked. Unfortunately, that meant that he could be tricked into doing Michael and Uriel’s work for them. And a thousand other angels, groveling ass-lickers, could very easily be convinced to spy by a couple of enterprising Archangels.

Azrael was not to be underestimated. Death is always everywhere. But Gabriel had found no heavenly essences around him.

That was expected. Uriel supposedly followed the children of Jaspeth, and Michael was with Shemp’s brood. Babylon was a dangerous land, full of demons. The whole place was ripe for corruption, having fallen to the worship of pagan idols. 

And the fighting of the Flood’s survivors kept Azrael busy. Of course. Thankfully, well away from Babylon, which was peaceful at this moment.

Demons, with one exception, would always represent a threat to him. They were simply not on the same side anymore. Some of them (the Dukes Hastur and Ligur came to mind) had gotten a vicious reputation for what they would do to any angel they happened to capture. It was whispered that Duke Hastur had learned how to force an angel to make an Effort, and that they performed all manner of horrific violations on any that they happened across.

Sweet Muriel, Angel of the Summer Stars, was one of their victims. She rarely spoke anymore, and her eyes burned like distant (fading) candles in her rigid face. She never smiled, though she had been a joyful creature before. The other angels avoided her. She was teetering, and might Fall soon.

Muriel’s story was a nightmare. Gabriel shuddered just thinking on it. Not that an Archangel would have anything to fear from the likes of Duke Hastur and Duke Ligur. Still, they often travelled in the company of the Daemonic Princes, and Gabriel was quite alone on his errand.

Gabriel would have something to fear from any of the Princes besides Beelzebub. They were each as powerful as he was, he had been told. But their powers were dark and twisted. Corrupted. Worse, they all knew that he’d been defeated by one of their peers, unarmed. Possibly, they had seen it.

He’d shown weakness to a bunch of, well, demons. Truly daemonic demons. Not like HIS demon.

Gabriel had been told that Prince Asmodeus was particularly awful, and tended to travel in the company of the worst demons. Prince Asmodeus encouraged Duke Hastur and Duke Ligur’s worst inclinations. Apparently, he’d overseen what was done to Muriel.

But, God be good, he had not sensed any infernal presences. No divine ones either. Perhaps, Hell knew what he was there to do. Or, at least Prince Beelzebub did, and ordered the others off. Maybe they felt him coming and scurried off. That would be a few low-rankers. The kind of demons that he could disincorporate with a thought.

So, nobody to keep him from his task. He was nearly at the site. It was just past the market, the great ziggurat that the Babylonians were building to honor all of their deities.

It was bigger than the last one. That was the first thing that Gabriel thought about it.

Terraces rose higher and higher above the city. The people had lavished it with decoration, to honor Lamia and Her entourage. A huge statue of Lilith, entwined with the demon Samael in his dragon-form, stood outside of the carved doors. Those doors were open, and he watched the workmen enter and leave.

He finished the last of his honeycomb, sitting on a stone bench beside a row of trimmed cypress trees, watching the humans at their work. There was a nice breeze here, coming off of the sea. Gabriel inhaled the sweet scent of the trees, the warm smell of the baking clay, and the smell of the animals used to make deliveries. Sweat and dust, dung and wood, the smells of human industry.

He stayed at the bench, warding himself against onlookers--mundane, occult, and ethereal. Minus one occult presence, whom he welcomed.

The men went in and out. The animals grunted as they dragged bricks and other supplies in and out. The shadows of the cypresses at his back stretched their silver fingers across him, and the sun finally began to fall in the sky.

He had seen no demons assisting the builders, nor any angels snooping.

The sun kissed the horizon and the blue twilight unfurled its robes across the sky. Gabriel was supposed to be an angel of the dawn, but he’d gained a certain appreciation of the dusk. The cool of the approaching evening breathed through his robes and he sighed with the simple physical pleasure of it. That was the moment that the sun relinquished his control over the sky, and Gabriel welcomed the cool light of the moon.

He closed his eyes, a terrible weariness falling over him. Only for a moment, but that moment was long enough. He felt an intrusion in his wards, and a gentle hand cupped the back of his neck. Gabriel opened his eyes and looked up.

Blue eyes smiled down at him, and he smiled as their lips found his. The gauzy, black fabric of their veil fell around his face.

“You’re here,” he said.

“I am,” said the demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot heavy, but the next chapter is where I put the smut. 
> 
> The idea that women don't have souls is an old one, shared by many of the Abrahamic faiths at one point or another.


	6. A Taste of Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here there be smut.

“You’re here,” he said.

“I am,” said the demon.

Prince Beelzebub slipped around the bench. They were dressed in the long robes of a temple priestess (or prostitute, though those were often the same thing in this city), black silks embroidered around the edges in silver. The embroidery looked like the veins in a fly’s wing and the silver that hung from their ears, around their neck and wrists, and crowned their head hung with garnet-eyed flies. Their eyes were ringed with kohl, and their lips were reddened with carmine. They lifted the hem of their robes, revealing a pair of jeweled sandals, laced up to their knees. They climbed onto the bench, settling themselves in Gabriel’s lap, straddling his legs.

If any mortals happened past, it looked like a wealthy man and his partner for the evening had stopped to play beside the construction site. But Gabriel did not expect company. He felt the demon’s wards rise up around his own. Their wards were practically holding hands, and he felt secure.

“I hope you don’t mind the wardzz,” the Prince said. Their lips brushed Gabriel’s again and their sweet scent settled around him. “But thizz izz no empty mountain road.”

“Not at all,” Gabriel said. “You didn’t seem to mind mine.”

“They let me in. You knew I wazz coming, didn’t you?”

“I hoped,” he said, kissing them. “Terribly. I wanted you here.”

“Did you fall azzleep waiting for me?”

“Sleep isn’t something I’ve indulged in...not for many years.”

“That didn’t look like an indulgenzze. It looked like a collapzze. My poor zzweet huzzband, you’re working too hard.” Their tone was playful. Then, more seriously, “Were you azzleep or not?”

“Not...Just resting my eyes. I swear it.”

Their hands stroked his neck and shoulders. “Thezze corporationzz muzzt be maintained, you know.”

“I don’t require sleep.”

“Of courzze not,” the Prince said. “It’zz nizze, though.”

“No,” Gabriel said. “Heaven is...it’s just not a safe place to let my guard down.”

“Come to my garden, zzweet angel. It’zz zzafe, and you’ll need a nap when I’m done with you.”

Their mouth was hot and welcoming. Gabriel kissed them, drinking of them deeply as they drank of him. He wanted to be in their garden, to let them fulfill their promises, to fall asleep in their arms after. He wanted privacy, to not worry about spies on either side.

“Your kizzezz are dizztracted, my love,” Prince Beelzebub said. “What troublezz you?”

_‘My love,’ _they said. He felt the air thin around him in six letters, yet he had concerns, and now was the time to ask his Prince if they were founded.

“Eyes,” he said. “I don’t sense any, but...”

“We’re alone. I checked. Nobody’zz zzuppozzed to be in thizz zzity.”

“Nobody else?”

“Well, mortalzz, yess. But the demonzz in the area have been withdrawn, and there was only one, anywayzz,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Didn’t Heaven take zzimilar precautions?”

“I think so. I’m the only angel who is supposed to be here.”

“But you don’t know for zzertain?”

“Nope.”

“Zzpies. Ugh.” Prince Beelzebub sighed. “Buzzinezz before pleazzure, I know. Mutual noninterferenzze?”

Gabriel sighed. “Yes.”

The kiss to seal that pact went on for far longer than was necessary, leaving both parties red-faced.

“I’m here to destroy their temple,” Gabriel said. “But you know that already, don’t you?”

“Of courzze,” the demon said. “I’m here to deliver a mezzage to King Nimrod. After you topple their tower. Did they give you the zzeventy-two new languagezz?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, remembering the sudden pour of information directly into his brain. He’d been doing paperwork. It hit him like a cudgel. The words, syntax, everything neatly organized. It was a huge amount of information, delivered in microseconds. “It was...unpleasant.”

The demon leaned against his chest. “It wazz, wazzn’t it? Zzome of the demonzz had headachezz from it. It wazz a large packet. Digezzting it wazz harder.”

“Digesting?”

“Prozzezzing? Unpacking the packet, and trying to make it all work?” The Prince’s hands fluttered in front of their face, trying to explain in gestures what couldn’t be explained in words. “We zzpent all day practizzing with each other. Pronunzziation, zzwitching between languagezz. That zzort of thing.”

“I think we were just given the languages...”

“That’zz rotten. I can help you practizze later,” Prince Beelzebub offered, with mischief in their voice. “I have zzeventy-two new wayzz to tell you that I dezzire you.”

Their lips went to the hollow of his throat and lingered there before moving up to his chin and then his mouth. He sighed as their hand slipped inside of his robes.

“God’s watching...God must be...” he murmured.

“Yet, She doezz not zztop me,” they whispered as their hand slipped down, between his legs. “She took thizz from you, but it still feels good to be touched, doezzn’t it?” The demon’s palm rubbed the flat expanse of skin where his Effort would be.

“It does...” he whispered. “But if God...if God wanted...shouldn’t we stop, then?”

“No,” said the demon, kissing him deeply and running their fingernails over the exquisitely sensitive skin between Gabriel’s legs. “When I get you to my garden, I’ll show you how to make another. Thizz izz even better with one.”

“Did she take yours?”

Prince Beelzebub smiled at him and leaned back. They opened their robes to the waist. The soft light of night dusted their skin. It shined like the silver that they wore, and the glow of their skin invited Gabriel’s fingers and lips.

“Zee for yourzzelf.”

Gabriel touched their face, and they closed their eyes. He traced his fingers through the vale of their small breasts, to their navel, and then below. The Prince leaned back, hands on Gabriel’s knees, to allow him the space he needed to slip his hand past the waist of their robes. He found a swell of flesh, which he explored carefully as his demon’s head fell back and they sucked air through their teeth. Prince Beelzebub moaned, a sound of pure need.

Gabriel knew what he was feeling, as he rolled the foreskin back and then ran his hand down the shaft.

Curiously, the top of his demon did not match the bottom. “A penis?” he asked.

“Yezz,” they said. “Truzzt me, you like it.”

“But...the breasts...”

Prince Beelzebub’s robes slipped down their slender arms as they rolled their head around to look at Gabriel. “Yezz,” they said with a smile. “Why shouldn’t I have all the toyzz? Keep exploring. You’ll find the rezzt.”

Their hungry eyes did not leave Gabriel’s as he stroked them. As he worked their cock, he realized that the base had become damp, which was not (in his limited knowledge of human anatomy and Efforts in general) how penises worked. He released the Prince and his fingers explored the area underneath the cock. Soft, slick flesh parted for his fingers, and he slipped a finger inside his Prince.

They sighed as he entered them.

“And a vulva?” he asked.

“All the toyzz, zzweet angel,” Prince Beelzebub murmured. “You liked that, too, I promizze.”

“Did I ever...? Have a vulva?”

“We tried it onzze. You zzaid it was intenzze, but it didn’t feel quite right.” They moved slowly, wrapping their arms around Gabriel’s neck and kneeling up. They lowered their lips to his, and sank down on his hand, forcing his fingers deeper. “We tried everything that we could think of, in Eden. You were alwayzz good with your handzz. Pleazze, Gabriel...Pleazze, zzweet angel. I need you.”

The belt of their robes unfastened easily, and he could reach them with his other hand. His mouth found a nipple as he stroked their cock, as his fingers explored the crenulations inside them. He felt them tightening around him as the demon whispered their prayers to him. As they rocked with his fingers. As they ran their fingers through his hair. As their body tensed and their cock finally jetted in his hand. As the walls of their vagina squeezed his fingers, and they cried his name to the moon.

They sank into Gabriel, panting, body soft and lightly sheened with sweat. He did not stop touching them. His ministrations slowed down, but he held his Prince until they went flaccid. He kissed their neck and lips as he slipped his fingers out of them.

The substance on both of his hands was black in the moonlight. The seed darker than the streaks on the fingers he’d pulled out of them. It looked like demon’s blood, and Gabriel worried that he might have hurt them. They did not seem hurt. The sounds they made were not sounds of pain.

“Demon zzeed,” they breathed in his ear. “I should have warned you, but it’zz a thing you get uzzed to.”

Gabriel startled. “When did you...and with whom?”

The Prince laughed their melodious laughter. “Zzweet angel, you’re jealouzz of yourzzelf again,” they said. “I mizzed you, many timezz over the yearzz. I remembered how you uzzed to touch me, and I touched myzzelf that way. It wazz never the zzame.”

“You...” Gabriel blushed. “You...did that...thinking of me?”

“I love you. The ‘zzweet huzzband’ zztuff? Only half in jezzt,” Prince Beelzebub said. “If marriage had been invented, that’zz what we would have done. You loved me, juzzt azz I love you.”

I’m sorry,” Gabriel said. “I can’t remember.”

“Then truzzt me when I tell you that there izz only you. There wazz only you. Becauzze I do remember.” They took his hands in theirs, and miracled them clean. “Maybe zzome part of you doezz remember, because that wazz azz zzweet azz it ever wazz.”

“I just wanted to make you happy,” Gabriel said.

“You did,” they said, and kissed both of his hands. “I wish we had more time...”

“We don’t though, do we?”

“Never enough,” they said, starting to close their robes.

“Wait,” he said, and their hands stopped. “Please...”

He took their face in his hands and kissed them, felt them lean themselves into him. His hands slipped down, under their rump, as he stood up.

“Gabriel?” they asked.

“Please,” he repeated. “Please let me.”

Gabriel laid them on the bench, touching them with the reverence that they had always shown him. Kneeling, he opened their robes, and worshipped them on the makeshift altar of the bench. Fingers slipping over their face, down their neck, to the apricot nipples that hardened for him. Nipples that he blessed with lips, teeth, and tongue. His demon whimpered as his fingers slipped below his demon’s navel, to the apricot-tipped cock that hardened so quickly for him. His kisses meandered down their belly, following the path that his fingers had taken. Their skin tasted like salt and honey, and he slipped his tongue into the dip of their navel. He climbed on the bench, pulling his Prince’s legs apart and settling himself between them. He kissed their inner thighs, causing his demon to whimper and gasp. He shouldered Prince Beelzebub’s knees and fingered the soft, damp lips that parted so easily for him. He kissed his Prince just above the base of their cock, then stopped, waiting for permission.

“Please,” he repeated. “Let me.”

His demon was clinging, white knuckled, to the stone bench that was draped with their open robes. They panted, and their wide blue eyes were glazed by their need and the moonlight. Their scent, musky and earthy, and sweet as honey, rose up from between their legs.

“’Zzweet angel,” they said, “I am yourzz. Azz I have alwayzz been.”

Gabriel nodded, kissing his way around the base, to the inviting little mouth below. He kissed them there, and they cried out as his tongue entered them. They tasted of salt and musk. There was a small sweetness there as well, but it was overwhelmed by the other flavors. He kissed them as deeply as he could, before running his tongue along the length of his demon. The Prince’s cock slipped past his lips, as his fingers slipped inside them. They were praying again. His name, over and over again as he moved his mouth over their skin, as he drove his fingers inside them. It wasn’t simple exploration this time.

He had a goal, and judging from how his demon was raising their hips and how their Efforts twitched, he was reaching it.

He changed his rhythm. Slower, longer strokes. Prince Beelzebub whimpered, but did not pull away from him. Gabriel wanted to savor this. It had been fifty-three years since he’d last seen his demon. Who knows how long their jobs or bosses would keep them apart? He wanted this to last.

Gabriel wanted to wring every drop of pleasure that he could from their flesh.

He felt the Efforts tense again, and again, he changed what he was doing. His slick fingers went to the cock, and his lips and tongue went below. His Prince let out a strangled cry, then a series of pleas.

“Pleazze, my angel. Pleazze. I’m zzo nearly there...pleazze, pleazze, pleazze...”

He pulled his mouth away and kissed both of the demon’s thighs. “I’d keep you here forever, just like this, if I could,” Gabriel said. He kissed a black, pearly bead of fluid from the tip of Prince Beelzebub’s cock.

“Zzweet angel. Zzweet Gabriel. Pleazze, my love.”

“I like those words.”

“Pleazze, my love. My love. _Mi amour_, _mon amour_, _Meine Liebe_, _min elzzkede_...”

Gabriel pulled their foreskin back and slipped his tongue around the sensitive skin that he had exposed as his Prince found seventy-two ways to cry their love for him. He wanted to hear all seventy-two of their endearments, and so, he went very slowly.

“_Szzerelmem_,” Prince Beelzebub murmured as Gabriel’s fingers entered them again.

Gabriel stopped what he was doing. “That one’s lovely.”

“It’zz Hungarian,” the Prince gasped as Gabriel went deeper with his fingers than he had before. “Pleazze...Gabriel, pleazze.”

“No, I want to hear them all. You were at Hungarian,” Gabriel replied, lowering his mouth back to the demon’s needy flesh.

Prince Beelzebub continued through their endearments, like prayer beads. They paused when the sensations became too great, and Gabriel would slow down, allowing them to continue.

The words came fast and hitched as the Prince reached his sixtieth.

“Don’t rush,” Gabriel said. “I want to hear them all.”

“Yezz, my love. _W__ǒ__ de ài_...”

Gabriel settled into a rhythm with mouth and fingers, and he felt their Efforts begin to seize as they reached towards number seventy. He was going to admonish them, but they held themselves back. They were playing his game. Playing with him.

Their climax arrived just as the seventy-second endearment left their lips. Their seed filled Gabriel’s mouth, sweeter than he expected. He swallowed it as it came, and he kept stroking them with his mouth until they went soft. Then, he turned his attention to the mouth below, cleaning his fingers and their lips with his tongue.

The Prince’s seventy-third endearment turned out to be, “Zzweet angel,” repeated, over and over, gently in the first language. Their language.

And, “I love you.” So many times.

He gathered them off of the stone and held them in his arms. They clung to his robes, shivering in the heat of the night. Gabriel held them until the shivers stopped. There were tears in their blue eyes.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into their mouth as he kissed them. “So very much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beez gets all the toys. More plot soon.
> 
> I'm still ahead for NaNo, so I was able to edit and post a couple of more chapters. Can I get a wahoo?
> 
> Beez got a wahoo.
> 
> That was a terrible joke. Back to the writing mines.


	7. Love and Falling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Beelzebub talks to Gabriel about God and their Fall.

He gathered them off of the stone and held them in his arms. They clung to his robes, shivering in the heat of the night. Gabriel held them until the shivers stopped. There were tears in their blue eyes.

“I love you, too,” he whispered into their mouth as he kissed them. “So very much.”

They broke the kiss. “I forgot how weak you alwayzz left me,” they said. “I zztill have work to do, and I am wrecked.”

“Tower’s still standing. You don’t have anything to do right now.”

“I should show you how to make an Effort. I should zzteal zzome of my energy back from you,” the Prince said with a wry smile. Then, they sighed. “Alazz, you alwayzz zzleep after, and we don’t have azz much time azz all that.”

“Always?”

“Every time. You tried to zztay awake onzze,” they said, with a shrug. “You made it ten minutezz.”

“And you?”

“I’ll recover. I uzzually zzleep after, but I don’t have to.” They rubbed their face against his chest. “Zznugglezz are nizze.”

“So we did this...often?”

“Azz much azz pozzible.”

“I wish I could remember you...” Gabriel searched for the right word and settled on, “before. Did you...did you always talk like that?”

“Hmm? Like what?”

“Buzzing.”

“No. That’zz new,” Prince Beelzebub said. “It came zzomewhat after my Fall, after I mozztly recovered.”

“Recovered?”

“Zzweet angel, you know that we were all made of air, water, or fire?”

“Yes.”

“You’re air. Pure air.”

It wasn’t a question, but Gabriel said, “Yes?”

“I’m the plazze where water and air kizz. The Lake of Fire nearly dezztroyed me,” the demon shivered at the memory. “Molloch, of all people, fished me out. Dagon healed me. She’zz water, too. All the healerzz are water.”

“You’re a healer? I thought you worked sanitation?”

The Prince nodded. “Azz the humanzz are learning, the firzzt zztep to healing is cleanlinezz. I wazz made a healer, and trained by Raphael himzzelf.”

“Why did you...I mean, you’re such a _nice_ demon...person...” Gabriel sputtered. He collected himself and then continued. “Why did you Fall?”

“For our love, God cazzt me out,” the Prince leaned up and kissed Gabriel, parting his lips and feeding on his mouth. They took tongue and breath, and Gabriel felt their tears slip onto his cheeks. “She zzaid that I zzinned upon you. That I tricked you. That our love was my luzzt. That I wazz wicked, and She wanted me out of her zzight.” Another kiss. “My zzweet, brave angel, you demanded to be cazzt down azz well. To share my punishment.”

Gabriel held them closer to him. “What did the Almighty say?”

“We were not azz zzmart azz the Watcherzz. We zzwore no vowzz,” the Prince sighed. “Zzo She juzzt laughed and zzaid that She wazz keeping you. She zzaid that you would forget me. That it would be azz if I never wazz. You zzcreamed that you’d never forget me, that She’d never get away with thizz. And then...” A heavy sob wracked Prince Beelzebub. “And then, She zzaid, ‘Archangel Gabriel, behold! You have a demon in your armzz. What are you doing with that filthy creature?’ And you zzaid, ‘I know not, my Lord.’ And She commanded you to cazzt me down. Do you remember?”

Barely, an image that flickered uncertainly in his mind, like a candle in a breeze. A demon with the most startlingly blue eyes, a demon who had been the Archangel Remiel moments before, sobbing meaningless words at him, hands clutching his robes, very much like now. A hole in the floor, straight to Hell. Pleas. Pleas and endearments. Frantic, desperate, but still so like the ones that the Prince had cried lying on a stone bench, under the ministrations of his mouth and hands. Gabriel remembered wrenching their hands away from him, the crunch of their bones and their agonized cries. He remembered casting them down.

Their eyes were on him until God closed the hole. And they never unfurled their wings.

“Did you try to fly?”

“No,” the demon said. “I wanted to keep my wingzz zzafe. I knew what to expect below--God made zzure of that. She wanted uzz afraid, zzo She told uzz about the Lake and the Pit and eternal darknezz. When that didn’t work, She told me that She wazz zzeparating uzz.”

“God...taunted you before you Fell?”

“Both of uzz, my love,” Prince Beelzebub said, pushing a stray lock of Gabriel’s hair behind his ear and tucking it in place. “We thought...we were both to be cazzt down. I could fazze Hell with you...but...alone? If the Lake took whatever I wazz and left nothing behind, I welcomed it. Better than being without you. Zzo, no, I never tried to fly.”

“And I just forgot you,” Gabriel spat.

“She took me away from you,” Prince Beelzebub said simply. “You didn’t want that. You fought for me. You juzzt don’t remember. But I do.”

“How can you still love me?”

“I’d azzk you the zzame. I nearly killed you, remember? I zztill have your zzpear.”

“I was never in any danger. I know that. It was strange,” Gabriel said. “I knew you’d never hurt me. Maybe I do remember some things.”

“If zzo, it’zz by God’zz will,” the demon said with a shrug. ”Thizz izz how God wantzz uzz. Apart. God kept you in Heaven. She needed me in Hell. Zzo, I’m in Hell.”

“Why did she need you in Hell?”

“I created the bureaucrazzy down there. If the demonzz have to file paperwork for everything, then they do a lot lezz damage.”

“Based on the Heavenly model?”

“We’re more effizzient, frankly,” they said. “Heaven izz late to adapt to new technology. Our filezz are alzzo more complete, juzzt becauzze we don’t lozze our memoriezz like you. It’zz hard, though, keeping recordzz. Everything rotzz down there zzo fazzt.”

“Rots?”

“Rotzz,” the Prince confirmed. “I zztay away azz much azz I can. I zztart to rot there too...and eventually...I zztop caring.”

“About the rot?”

“About everything,” the demon said. They shivered again. “We all lozze whatever izz the bezzt of uss. The bezzt of me izz that I care. About everything. Bugzz, kidzz, raindropzz, everything. My pazzion, my COMpazzion. I lozze it.” The Prince sighed heavily, then whispered into Gabriel’s chest. “I’m afraid that I’ll zztop caring about you, if I zztay long enough. It’zz good to zzee your zzpear and armor. To remember that you’re zztill out there. That we might zzee each other. That you might...zztill...might zztill love me.”

“Keep them, please. I...” Gabriel swallowed hard. “I didn’t know that’s why you kept them.”

“They’ll come back to you in time, my love,” they said. “Hazz your zzide told you about the Great Plan?”

“Six thousand years and then--oh. Oh no. No, She can’t make us!”

“She can and She will,” the demon said. They wrapped their arms around his neck and pulled themselves up. Their lips fell on his neck, and their hands teased his robes open at the neck. They kissed their way to the scar, dabbing it with tongue and then worrying it with lips and teeth. Only briefly. “We have thezze momentzz, zzweet angel, becauzze She allowzz it. And She allowzz it becauzze it’zz better than nothing, and we’ll do anything for a few momentzz with each other. Even dezztroy the world.”

“That’s why you’re not afraid? Of being caught?”

“Zzweet angel, if She didn’t want uzz juzzt azz we are, right now--pleazze believe me, She would make it known.” Prince Beelzebub laughed. “I’ve recovered. Let’zz go. I wazz planning on showing you around the temple before you have to wreck it.”

“Showing me around? Why?”

“Do you ever get the chanzze to do any zzightzzeeing?”

“I got to see the market!” Gabriel said brightly. “It was bright, and everything smelled so good. They had grilled honeycomb. I had some, and it was terrific. Oh, and I bought a bunch for the children that were playing in the market.”

“That’zz my zzweet angel,” they said, with a gentle kiss. “I wazz going to show you the temple, and I wazz planning on zzomething zzimilar to what we did on the bench. You zzurprizze me, my love. You alwayzz zzurprizze me.”

“What exactly were you planning?”

“Time permitting,” Prince Beelzebub said, slipping a small hand down his robes and palming the sweet flesh where his Effort would be. “Time permitting, I wazz going to show you how to make an Effort, and zzee how much fun we could have defiling a pagan temple. Though I doubt that my temptation of an Archangel would count azz a defilement. They have some very nice chaizzezz in there, and I thought we’d get zzome uzze out of them before the whole thing came down.”

“Does time permit?”

“When are you going to zztrike the temple?”

“Anytime before dawn.”

Prince Beelzebub looked up at the moon. “Let’zz do it right before the dawn, then. I know that you don’t want to harm the workerzz. And the ruinzz in the light of early morning would make a very...poetic image...for King Nimrod’zz mezzage.”

“What exactly is that message?” Gabriel asked.

“Zztay with me and watch. The Metatron will expect a report. Yezz?”

“Yes,” Gabriel agreed.

“Let’zz zzee to it that he hazz one,” Prince Beelzebub said, lazily stretching, and then standing. Gabriel got a good look at them, barely clothed in the light of the full moon, before they rearranged their robes, jewelry, and veil. “There’zz zzome partzz you might want to glozz over...in your report.”

Gabriel laughed as he left the bench. His Prince’s hands went to his robes, tidying him up. “Yes,” he said, kissing Prince Beelzebub on the forehead. “A short meeting with the Lord of the Flies outside of the temple to establish mutual non-interference. A walkabout of said temple, to figure out the most effective means of destruction. Absolutely no fornication. I swear it.”

Prince Beelzebub laughed behind a hand. The same laugh from the mountainside. “Let me show you, then, what God meanzz for you to dezztroy. And, maybe give you zzome more thingzz to edit out of your final report--time permitting, I’d love to hear what you can do with zzeventy-two languagezz.”

Gabriel quirked an eyebrow, but followed the Demon Prince, hand-in-hand.

They walked to the temple that would be named “Tower of Babel” by the Hebrews in their texts. The carved gates opened with an infernal miracle, and the ornate doors to the temple (inlaid with gold and silver) with an ethereal one.

“Lightzz, my love?” the demon asked.

Gabriel held his hand out and a ball of radiance rose from his palm to light the interior of the temple. He gasped. The room was enormous, airy, and silver in the light of the moon. The walls were covered in carved idols. The buttresses looked like scaled serpents with eyes of precious metals. The walls were decorated with great friezes and tiled mosaics. Prince Beelzebub stepped up to one of them, not quite finished, that showed a flame-haired woman in black robes, with a serpent entwining her. The eyes of the woman and the serpent were picked out in amber, glowing warmly in Gabriel’s light.

“Iblizz,” the demon said, touching the onyx scales of the snake.

“A demon?”

“Yezz, one of mine. He goes by Crawly in Hell. I guess he chose Iblizz for hizz time around the humanzz. And to be a woman, but that’zz expected in the landzz of Lamia.” There was a tenderness in his demon’s voice. An ache. “He Fell before me. I have no memory. I’ve never zzo much azz zzpoken to him in Hell. But...he zzent me a mezzage, after the Flood, and--zzeriouzzly, angel?”

“What?”

“You’re jealouzz. You’re grimazzing,” Prince Beelzebub crossed the room and hugged Gabriel around the waist. “There izz only you. Nobody elzze, not like thizz. Not romantically.” They paused. “I know that truzzt izz difficult without memory. Or the ability to zzenzze me. But...pleazze, truzzt me.”

“Alright, but, she doesn’t exactly look like most demons. She’s...” Gabriel searched for the right word, “gorgeous! I’m not going to worry about you around creatures like Hastur and Ligur--“

“You should,” Prince Beelzebub said soberly. “Crawly would never hurt me. Not ever. Hazztur and Ligur, they’re under the imprezzion that I’m weak, juzzt because toadzz and chameleonzz eat fliezz. Azzmodeuzz and the other Prinzzezz encourage them for their own gainzz. And amuzzement! You should worry about them.” His demon buried their face in his chest and their words were muffled by the fabric of his robes. “Hell izz a million flavorzz of dezzpair, and I am mozztly alone there. Crawly izz perhapzz the only demon that you shouldn’t be worried about. Firzztly, becauzze he lovezz me--for reazzons that I cannot remember, and zzecondly becauzze he izz never actually in Hell. Oh, and Dagon. Never quezztion her love for me.”

“Dagon, the scribe?”

“My zzcribe. Mine. A claim that I have had to defend more than onzze.”

He remembered the toothy maw of the scribe, and the sheen of scales across her cheeks. She did not seem the type to require a lot of defense. “But you’re not...with her?”

Prince Beelzebub looked up at Gabriel, their expression somewhere between bemused and exasperated.

“Dagon izz my zzcribe. She izz very good at her job, and izz a healer, bezzidezz. That makezz her a very dezzirable aquizzition. For all of the Prinzzezz.” The demon sighed. “Azz for her heart, it belongzz to zzomeone who did not Fall.”

“Who?”

“Not my plazze to tell you. You’d have to azzk her.”

“That sounds dangerous. I’ll pass.”

“Exzzellent choizze. Dagon izz a fierzze fighter, and she doeszzn’t like quezztionzz about her life before her Fall.”

“She told you, though?”

“She remembered uzz. You and me. My defeat of you wazz my declaration of fealty to Hell. She knew how it muzzt have hurt, and zzo zzoon after my Fall. Truthfully, I wazzn’t fully healed yet. But I wazz needed anywayzz. Healing the otherzz. You muzzt have zzeen the blood on me. It wazz everywhere.”

“I remember. I thought it was from fighting.”

Prince Beelzebub shook their head dismissively. “No, I never zzaw battle.The hozzt arrived back juzzt after Dagon got me back on my feet. I was zzummoned to attend to the worzzt hurt. I wazz then, and remain, their bezzt healer.”

“You treated Lucifer,” Gabriel surmised.

His demon nodded. “And otherzz. Many otherzz. Then, Luzzifer called for me to dezzign a contract. Dagon said that we required a champion, and I volunteered.”

“I...I would have killed you, then. If I could have.”

“I know.” The Prince’s grip on him tightened. “Dagon and I knocked back way too much mead after that. I found myzzelf too deep in my cupzz, and I cried it all out to her. And she told me about her lover, much mizzed.”

“Please say it’s not Michael.”

“Michael? No,” Prince Beelzebub laughed. “Michael’zz only lover wazz alwayzz hizz zzpear. Nobody turned hizz head. I doubt that’zz changed.”

“No,” Gabriel agreed. “Just...they did have to kiss...and that would be awful if that was her...her person.”

“I had to kizz you,” the Prince pointed out.

“You chose to kiss me,” Gabriel returned, hugging them tighter. “You could have sealed that contract with anyone. I’m glad...you chose me.”

“I wanted one more, to remember you by.”

“What happened in Enoch? Why did you kiss me there?”

“I wanted to zzee,” they said. “Juzzt azz I zzaid. I had to know if there wazz any recognition...if She truly took everything. It wazz hard to zztop, but I didn’t want Lilith to hurt you. You needed to get yourzzelvezz out of there.”

“Ourselves?”

“You, Michael, and Uriel. Of courzze.”

“Oh. Them.”

“Thizz new Heaven zzeemzz to be no plazze for friendzz.”

“Not at all,” Gabriel said miserably.

“We were all friendzz, onzze.” Prince Beelzebub smiled their beautiful, guileless smile. “You, me, Michael, Zzamael, Uriel, Dagon, probably Crawly...”

“I wish I could remember.”

“It’s by dezzign that you do not. And through my own zzelfishnezz that you have the little that you do.”

“Selfishness?”

“She’ll take it away, if she wantzz it gone. I wondered, after the Watcherzz, if I wazz putting you in danger, but then I realizzed...” the demon said, “that thizz izz all Herzz. You are Herzz, and zzo am I. If She wantzz to take everything that I’ve given you, and put a new zzpear in your handzz, She’ll do it. If She wantzz me on your zzpear, that’zz what’zz going to happen. If She wantzz me to wake up with you dead at me feet, my knivezz in your soft partzz, that’zz what’zz going to happen. Her zztage, my love, and we are the poppetzz that She forcezz to danzze for Her. I hope...” the demon’s voice cracked with pain, and Gabriel could feel his robes dampen with their tears. “I hope that as long as we cooperate with thizz Great Plan, that She will leave uzz in peazze until the end. My momentzz with you are the only thing that zzuzztainzz me. And yezz, I would play my little part in dezztroying all of it for thozze momentzz.”

Gabriel lifted his demon into his arms, and laid kisses on their face and neck. When he caught their mouth, they returned his passion. Their kisses were pain and love, mixed in equal parts. Longing spoke in the way that they lingered in his mouth, the way that they held his face.

They dropped out of his hands, to the mosaic floor, their sandals whispering over the blue and white tiles as they took his hand and led Gabriel through a series of archways, then through a side door carved with the Lamia. Gabriel’s light followed them inside, to a room that was mostly finished.

The walls were painted with a garden, lush and verdant. Touches of Eden remained in the flowers, which were certainly not local. The room was small, containing a washstand carved with leaves and petals. The only other thing in the room was a large chaise. Carved vines twined around the wood and the upholstery was cream and gold. The window was glassed, and the glass translucent. Gabriel realized the purpose of a room like this and blushed.

“This is one of the priestess’ rooms,” he said.

“Yezz,” said his demon, turning to him. Their hands went to his robes, opening them. “It’zz fine, zzweet angel. We’re here to worship,” they said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how to AO3, so if you like what I'm doing, please help me promote it. If you have suggestions for tags, please tell me. Share my work, or tell me where to share it. Translations, derivative works, and fanart are welcome and treasured. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for your support. It's been so long since I've done anything with fanfiction, and I have missed it more than I knew. Love y'all.


	8. Sweet Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter in which Gabriel finds seventy-two new languages to appreciate his sweet Prince in.

The walls were painted with a garden, lush and verdant. Touches of Eden remained in the flowers, which were certainly not local. The room was small, containing a washstand carved with leaves and petals. The only other thing in the room was a large chaise. Carved vines twined around the wood and the upholstery was cream and gold. The window was glassed, and the glass translucent. Gabriel realized the purpose of a room like this and blushed.

“This is one of the priestess’ rooms,” he said.

“Yezz,” said his demon, turning to him. Their hands went to his robes, opening them. “It’zz fine, zzweet angel. We’re here to worship,” they said.

They pulled the clothing from his body gently, hanging it from a hook that was carved to look like the serpent in the Garden. Gabriel was grateful that his demon covered the hook, whose amber eyes glowed in his light. Even a couple of rocks shining down at him benignly seemed accusatory in a place like this.

His Prince appreciated his exposed flesh with touches, kisses, and endearments. “You are almozzt azz I remember you,” they said, lowering themselves to their knees in front of him. Their fingers went to the flat, hairless (and Effortless) patch of skin between his legs. Their hands explored the front and the back, gentle hands of a healer, before they declared, “Well, at leazzt She let you keep your azzhole.”

“Eh...I’m not even sure why I have that. I mean, I don’t really NEED to digest food, let alone expel it.”

“I’d be zzo happy to show you how much fun you can have with one of thezze.”

“Fun?”

“The humanzz wouldn’t couple in all the wayzz that they do if it wazzn’t fun.” Their lips brushed the skin below his navel, and then they began to kiss further down. He felt goosebumps prickle across his whole body as his Prince ran their fingernails gently across the skin of his inner thighs.

“Oh, that’s nice,” he said.

“It’zz better with an Effort,” Prince Beelzebub said. Their fingers began to work the flesh, causing it to rise. They shaped it, easily. Their motions were practiced, and his flesh seemed to remember them. It obeyed the demon. They turned their eyes up to him, crystal blue in the ocean of black that they wore. “Doezz thizz zzeem right?”

Their hand slid along the length. “I don’t remem--oh!” Gabriel gasped as they pulled his foreskin back. “That’s really nice.”

“You’re going to want to lie down,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Look, a chaizze.”

The demon stood up and led him--by the cock--to the chaise. Their touch was gentle, and he followed, obediently. Once he was arranged on the chaise, the demon was on him. Their soft weight straddling his chest, so much like in the caverns of Hell, and yet, so much had changed since then. He felt their fingers on his face--forehead, eyelids, nose, lips. He opened his eyes, seeing nothing but care in his demon’s face. His hands went to their outer thighs, stroking the soft skin there. They took his hands away from them, shoved them over his head, and held them in place.

Their face was a few inches away from his, and Gabriel realized that, in spite of their height difference and difference in strength, he was quite pinned. He gave a gentle struggle, but the Prince held him in place. Something dark and wild danced in their eyes, in the flick of a smirk that played on their lips.

“How did you--?” he asked.

The kiss that cut off his question was not gentle. It was rich with passion. The demon’s tongue entered his mouth, roughly. Where it had stroked and played, now it struck and speared.

His Effort twitched as they kissed him. Gabriel was helpless under them, just as he had been in Hell. Their lips left his, finding the sweet flesh of his neck, and then lower. He felt them start on the spot where they’d marked him, sucking and biting, teeth sinking further than they had before.

Gabriel gasped as they bit into his shoulder. Pain radiated from their teeth, but it mingled with the pleasure of their tongue sliding over the wound. He tried to thrash, but his Prince held him fast, pulling his blood to the surface.

“Fuck!” he cried out.

Their teeth left his shoulder and those bright blue eyes appeared over him again. Their face looked as sweet as ever, even with a smear of his own blood across their lips.

“Zzeventy-two new languagezz, and that’zz zztill your favorite word, izzn’t it?” Their expression was bemused.

“So far...yes.” Gabriel panted. “It’s a good word!”

“No argumentzz there.” Their mouth went back to his shoulder. Little kisses, teases. Swipe of tongue. Another bite, hard and wet. He could feel the blood welling, maybe spilling.

Gabriel liked it. He liked the rawness of it. The pain. He struggled under the demon, but he was held fast.

He cried out, and Prince Beelzebub sat up, blood smearing their lips and teeth as they smiled down at him. He tried to shift his weight. To slip out from under them, to get the upper hand, to hold them down and show them his own hunger. But Gabriel could not shift the Prince, and he wondered if it was by infernal miracle that the demon held him fast.

“Too much?” his demon asked, licking his blood from their lips.

“No. Just trying to...Just...”

“Trying to get away? Throw me down? Fuck me? I remember how wily you are, Archangel.” Prince Beelzebub managed to make his title sound like a challenge. “You’re not getting away from me zzo eazzily.”

“How are you even doing this? I can’t move!”

“I was taught by the bezzt, zzweet angel,” they said, lowering their bloody lips to his. He kissed them deeply, tasting his own blood mingled with their saliva.

“Didn’t think you were a fighter,” Gabriel said when they broke the kiss.

“I’m not,” came the reply, almost lazily as they began to string kisses along Gabriel’s jawline. “But have you ever tried healing zzomeone in pain? They fight, and it’zz good to be able to keep them in plazze.”

“Why can’t I have my hands? I won’t throw you down.”

“You’ll be good?” Prince Beelzebub asked.

“I swear it,” Gabriel replied.

“You’re a liar, zzweet angel. I’m buzzy, if you haven’t notizzed,” Prince Beelzebub said. “You like to dizztract me, and I’m in no mood to be dizztracted.”

Still holding his hands above his head, Prince Beelzebub kissed his wound, licked and sucked at it, causing Gabriel pain and pleasure. He gasped his Prince’s name and felt them smile against his skin.

They leaned up and released his hands, which went straight to his Prince’s thighs. They looked down at him, tracing the golden bruise that they’d left behind.

“You uzzed to alwayzz have thezze.”

“Always?”

“Zzeriouzzly? Do you think we ever had the zzelf-control to keep our handzz off of each other?” They laughed, their clear, beautiful laugh. “Zzweet angel, onzze we dizzcovered zzex, that’zz all we wanted to do. There’zz a reazzon that Dagon remembered uzz. We tried everything, and we reported our rezzultzz.”

“We...what?”

They leaned down, their lips a hair’s breadth from his ears and whispered, “We taught the otherzz how to fuck.”

And then their lips were on his skin below his ear. He reached under their robes, running his fingers over the sensitive skin of their hips.

“Yezz...” they buzzed. Then, “No...you are a dizztraction.”

The Prince slipped down his body, out of his hands. They rose from the chaise. Their ornaments and clothes fell away, leaving them in just their lovely skin. Their hair, long and lustrous, hung behind them in a braided rope. Their Effort was rigid and ready, and he could smell the fragrance of their vagina. Gabriel’s mouth watered for it.

They crawled onto the chaise, the same way that he must have mounted the bench. They watched him with eyes full of that beautiful reverence, and something else. Something somehow darker and brighter than reverence.

Passion. Triumph. Gabriel wished that he could sense their emotions, could feel what that look meant. Their hands were on him, sliding over the sensitive flesh of his inner thighs. Their lips followed their hands, and his engorged Effort was so ready for whatever attention the demon saw fit to give it.

And that was Gabriel’s problem. Prince Beelzebub did not seem particularly intent on giving his Effort any attention. They kissed his sensitive belly, his thighs, fingernails finding the soft skin where thigh met torso. He sighed, but they weren’t any closer to giving him any relief. He whined in a decidedly unangelic fashion when Prince Beelzebub finally darted to the skin at the base of his cock.

“Please, my Prince, please...”

“Tell me your dezzirezz, my love.”

“Please...touch me.”

Prince Beelzebub smirked at him and grazed their fingernails over his inner thighs. “I am touching you.”

“Please...my c-cock...”

“You want me to pleazze your cock?” The demon laughed. “Zzweet angel, azzk and ye shall rezzieve.”

Prince Beelzebub’s lips were so warm at the base of Gabriel’s Effort. Those kisses were followed by a gentle tongue. He sighed at they worked their way up. They were slow and deliberate, not missing any of his flesh, hand cupping his balls, other hand around the base, stroking. He closed his eyes as Prince Beelzebub ran their tongue underneath his foreskin, swirling the delicate flesh they found there. Their mouth slipped over the head, sucking at him with a great deal more force than Gabriel would have thought that they were capable of.

But that was not the first time his demon’s physical strength surprised him. He called for them as the strokes of their mouth and hands drew him higher and higher.

Gabriel felt himself close to something, very close, and he hoped that his prince would not deny him as he had denied them.

They did not. He spilled into them with a groan, and they swallowed him as easily as he had swallowed them. Their pace slowed, but did not stop. Strangely, he had not gone soft.

He was trying to think, to remember what he was taught about anatomy. What his prince was doing felt delicious, but did not seem natural. Shouldn’t he have to rest? In the end, Gabriel supposed that having a bunch of information crammed into his brain might be the most efficient way to do these things, but a lack of practical application left a lot to be desired.

His demon sensed the question.

“Refractory periods are optional for healerzz,” they said, softly, gently. “Their partnerzz, azz well. Back in the Garden, we uzzually fucked for hourzz without a break.”

Gabriel remembered, briefly, what they had said about him always requiring sleep after an encounter. “Hours?”

“Hourzz.” Prince Beelzebub straddled Gabriel and used his cock to tease their open pussy. He watched the dark fluids trickle down the head and shaft. “Tell me that you want it, zzweet angel.”

“I can do better than that.” Gabriel settled his hands on Prince Beelzebub’s hips and guided them down onto himself. They felt tight around him, slick and warm and good.

The demon sighed, settling themselves all the way down. Though tall for a mortal, the Prince was tiny by angelic and demonic standards. Gabriel’s Effort was proportionate to himself, meaning larger than average. A fact he could not ignore as he watched his Prince adjust and readjust themselves.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked.

“Yezz...I never zztretch myzzelf out enough for you...becauzze thizz izz a pain that I like.” The demon rose up a couple of inches before sinking down again. “Touch me.”

Gabriel ran his hands over the Prince’s chest as they leaned back, presenting their cock to him. A black pearl beaded up on the tip, then the fluid slipped down. Gabriel began to stroke them, and was rewarded as the Prince began to rock on him.

“Yezz, like that,” they said, rolling their hips. They shifted their weight in a way that caused Gabriel to gasp.

They were grinding him, and slowly. Letting him build up slowly. Clearly enjoying the feeling of him stretching them open.

“Weren’t you zzuppozzed to be practizzing your new wordzz?” they asked. “There’zz bound to be zzeventy-two new wordzz for ‘fuck’.”

Gabriel grinned a dark, wicked little grin as he said, “_Amai ōji_.”

Prince Beelzebub breathed deep at that, a hitching breath that caused the muscles that captured Gabriel’s Effort to clench. They leaned forward, hands on his chest and kissed him deeply as they ground down on his hips. “More.”

“_Makea prinssi_, _amir alhuluw_, _doux prince_...”

The words matched his sweet Prince’s rhythm. Gabriel soon realized, just after Spanish and before Romanian, that a healer wouldn’t have to change their rhythm to keep him on the edge. They could just hold him there until he finished all seventy-two endearments, and that seemed to be exactly what they were doing.

Prince Beelzebub sped up when Gabriel hit the sixty fifth “sweet prince”, and it took him a few seconds to remember the Afrikaans phrase. The next seven fell from his lips like raindrops.

He felt Prince Beelzebub seize around him, as he released into them. As they came across his belly in strings of black, ichorous, sweet-smelling seed.

They did not go flaccid, and neither did he.

“Zznugglezz are nizze, but I don’t know if it’zz going to be another half-zzentury or whole zzentury before I zzee you again. I want thizz.”

The demon knelt up, releasing Gabriel. They slipped between his legs and shouldered his knees. A slick finger parted him, then slid inside. Gabriel’s mouth made a silent ‘o’ as his head fell back. He felt himself sink into the soft material of the chaise. His body felt weak. Loose. With just a touch.

He felt them move, sliding in and out, rolling over a curiously sensitive spot. The word “prostate” came to him, as Prince Beelzebub slipped another slick finger inside of him. He groaned as they stretched him, their other hand going to the base of his cock, rubbing him there. He felt close, so close, and so quickly. Gabriel wondered if they were urging him along with infernal miracles, but he didn’t think so. Without a refractory period, his Prince could just keep pleasuring him until he was well and truly worn out.

Prince Beelzebub withdrew their fingers and lined themselves up. He felt them teasing him. Nudging him slightly.

“Zzay it, zzweet angel,” they said.

Gabriel paused, enjoying the feel of his Prince’s lingering, before he met their eyes and said, “I am yours, as I always have been.”

Gabriel knew storms. His Prince’s kisses were like an autumn rainshower, unexpected snaps of wind surrounded by a gentle patter of water that washes the leaves down. His Prince’s mouth had been a summer rainstorm, one that ended with evening air full of petrichlor and the croaks of frogs. His Prince riding on top of him had been the warm breath of a hurricane, swirling deeper inside of itself.

The demon now drove themselves into him with the passion that created the Great Storm, the one that brought the Great Flood. He felt them spend inside him, a flood of their own, over and over again. They moved without stopping. The prince would build speed, and slow down. Long strokes that seemed to go on forever, before slamming into his body with a strength that continued to surprise him. They milked his cock dry, and kept stroking them with hands that were miracled to never lose their slickness.

He kept coming, each orgasm breaking over him like a storm. And always accompanied by the prayers of his demon. Prayers which eventually wended down to just his name, over and over again.

Some storms end with a gentle taper, to a few lingering raindrops. Some blow themselves out. Some rare storms end with a thunderclap, and a final flash of lightning to turn the whole world silver and grey.

That’s how this storm ended.

“Last one, angel,” his Prince said, and drove into him with quick, strong strokes. They mirrored that on Gabriel’s cock.

They climaxed within a few heartbeats of each other, and when Prince Beelzebub climaxed for the final time, they unfurled their wings over him.

“I love you,” they whispered, slipping out of him with a practiced gentleness. They let his legs down, and laid chest-to-chest with Gabriel as he stroked their back and their wings.

The light that Gabriel had set over them cast shadows through the gossamer wings of his demon. Flies’ wings. Long and slender, certainly nothing that would support their weight. The membranous wings fluttered, an opalescent sheen turning from green to blue to violet with the Prince’s movement.

“They’re...beautiful,” Gabriel said.

“Thankzz,” his Prince murmured. “The old onezz fell off.”

“They did what now?”

“They fell off,” the demon said. “A few dayzz after our battle. Juzzt fell off. Dagon azzumed that it was part of my Fall. She healed me bezzt she could, but I was zztill Falling when we fought. Dagon figured that her healing zzlowed the whole prozzezz of my Falling. It hurt like, well, Hell when they dropped off.”

“Sorry,” said Gabriel. While sincere, it felt inadequate.

“It’zz fine. I like thezze better.”

He ran his fingers along the veins and was rewarded with a soft moan. “They’re sensitive.”

“Very.”

“Should explore that.”

“Next time.”

“Oh, God, you were right. I’m exhausted.” Gabriel wanted to stay on this chaise forever, his demon on his chest. “How am I going to destroy this place?”

His demon sat up, sighing. They miracled away the evidence of their lovemaking, all of the celestial and infernal fluids, the sweat and the saliva and every trace of the two of them. The Prince ran their hands over Gabriel, from his face to his feet, and he felt his vigor returning.

“Healer,” said the demon, with a bit of pride. “You zzlept before, in the Garden, becauzze you could. We could. No zzleep for the weary, my love. Nor the wicked, I zzuppozze.”

Gabriel sat up. His hand went to that spot on his neck. The skin was sore and he could feel the teeth marks dented in. “Didn’t heal this, did you?”

“Conzzider it a trophy,” they said as they straddled themselves across his lap. Their wings stretched, shattering his light into splashes of color all around the two of them. Their arms looped around his neck, and Gabriel’s hands found their hips. They kissed him, mouth still hot with desire.

“You weren’t tired,” he said, after the kiss. “You’d go again if we had time.”

“I ended up the Prinzze of Gluttony for a reazzon,” Prince Beelzebub laughed. “Luzzifer zzaw my pazzion and dezzided that made a good zzin.”

Lucifer. “You said that he hurts you,” Gabriel said, darkly.

“Yezz. He’zz phyzzical when he’zz dizzpleazzed,” they said. His Prince worried at their lower lip with their teeth before continuing. “Don’t think about it. It’zz over quickly. And he’zz never hurt me. Not anything I couldn’t heal. Hell izzn’t zzuppozzed to be pleazzant.”

“He shouldn’t be hurting you,” Gabriel insisted. His voice sounded petulant. He hated it.

“He’s Zzatan. He doezz azz he will. He could do worzze. He doezzn’t.”

Gabriel’s curiosity was a perverse beast. It needled him. “What...what was the worst?”

His Prince paused, struggling with their next words. Finally, they said, “He shattered my wingzz onzze.”

Gabriel blinked, and ran a hand over the left upper wing. His demon shivered in pleasure at his touch. “Why?” he asked.

“He had zzome minor zzetback and he wanted to hurt zzomething. I was there and he zztomped me. It shattered my wingzz, a couple of ribzz, and I coughed up a bunch of frothy blood. Unpleazzant, but zzurvivable.” The demon paused, catching Gabriel’s lips softly with their own. “Pleazze don’t make me think of him now.”

He obeyed, kissing and touching and trying to soothe fifty-three years of absence and hurt from his demon. From his lover. His attentions were returned, but the kisses tasted bittersweet. These were the kisses of lovers soon to be parted. Gabriel wasn’t surprised to feel tears on his cheeks. He didn’t know whose tears they were.

“It’s nearly dawn,” he said. The angel of the dawn could always feel the approach of the day.

Prince Beelzebub sighed and tucked their wings away. One last kiss, and then they were up and off of him. They dressed with a miracle and then dressed him just as quickly.

“Heaven’zz zztill being zztingy with the miraclezz?” the demon asked.

“Yeah, thanks for getting me dressed.”

The demon stood just in front of him and offered a hand, which Gabriel took. They pulled him off of the chaise and hugged him close. “You wore zzomething with a zzcarf,” they said.

“I was hoping I’d see you,” Gabriel murmured into their veil as he pressed his lips to the top of their head. “I prepared.”

“That’zz zzo good, zzweet angel. I’d fuck you again, if we had time, juzzt for that.” The demon paused, looking at the pale light that started to infiltrate the window. “But we need to get to the obzzervation deck.”

“You obviously know your way around here,” Gabriel said. “Show me?”

Prince Beelzebub took his hand, kissed it, and led him through halls and up stairs, from one level to another, through an endless maze of corridors to the topmost platform.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah. God's a bastard and so is Lucifer. Biiiiig shocker.
> 
> FYI: I used to be a small person, about 5'0" and 100 lbs. The person who taught me how to fight was my 6'4" 180 lbs karate dude brother. Even a small person (the actress who plays Beelzebub is 5'7"--literally all of the men in this series are beasts that make her look way tinier than she is) can pin a bigger, stronger, trained fighter if they know what they are doing.
> 
> Protip: if you center your weight on their shoulders, generally, they're stuck.
> 
> I'm ahead on my word count for NaNoWriMo, so I can post a couple of updates. XOXO, love y'all!


	9. Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Tower of Babel finally falls, and Gabriel finds out exactly how bad things are for his Prince and himself.

“You obviously know your way around here,” Gabriel said. “Show me?”

Prince Beelzebub took his hand, kissed it, and led him through halls and up stairs, from one level to another, through an endless maze of corridors to the topmost platform.

It was a garden, open to the sky and lovely. These ziggurats would someday be known as the Hanging Gardens, and that’s because every step of the terrace was planted with flowers, shrubs, and trees. This topmost part looked almost like The Garden. Like Her Garden. Where Gabriel had (even though he did not remember) first Known his Prince as his fellow Archangel. As Remiel, God’s Compassion.

He could see all of Babylon from here. The city, the second Nun-Ki, was awakening from the night’s slumber. A few voices, calling for sleepy animals and children, rang out in the silver-blue light of the peeking dawn. A dog barked from far away, and he could hear the rumble of carts already. A few fires blazed in the gloam below, the huge kilns that they used to bake their daily bread began heating up. A smith began the steady clank of his profession.

He could smell the sea and the flowers of the garden. Beside him, he could smell his Prince. Scent of green and growing things, salt and musk and clean.

Above everything, they always smelled so clean.

Gabriel didn’t have time to call the clouds. It would have to be a bolt from the blue. He unfurled his wings and held his hand out, feeling his power grow.

His Prince slipped their arms around him, then climbed him in their usual fashion. He gave them a questioning look.

“If I’m not on you, you’ll roazzt me with your lightning,” they said. “Good thing I fought you in a cavern, zzweet angel. You could dizzcorporate me eazzily with thozze boltzz.”

They laughed, and their eyes were full of their gentle, trusting love. Full of something else, an emotion that it took Gabriel a moment to place. Pride. His demon was proud of him. Proud of his strength, enjoyed watching him call the storm.

The lightning obeyed him, as it always did. In a flash of white light called down from a clear sky, the Tower of Babel tumbled.

Gabriel used a miracle to float above, not bothering with his wings. He held his Prince close as the stones collapsed beneath them. The chaise where they had spent the dark hours, the mosaic of the beautiful red-haired demon, all of the carvings and the plants and every hour of human labor fell into a shapeless mound of grey. Great clouds of dust whispered over the stones and the startled faces of the workers at the gate.

Fire burned around the stones, consuming the wood and fabric and every other thing it could find in the rubble.

Gabriel looked at the silvering sky and realized that he was, indeed, a touch late. The sun lingered at the horizon, but he hoped that the Almighty would not mind his tardiness. Then again, She could have just done it Herself. Could have collapsed the whole ziggurat on them as they laid on that chaise, crushed and discorporated both of them, if that’s what She had wanted.

Gabriel wanted to live the way that his demon did. Fearlessly, and steadfastly certain that, short of Divine Intervention, everything that they did was (if not explicitly, then tacitly) condoned by God. The soft weight of his demon, held tight to his chest (and, curiously, breathing hard) was a comfort to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked. When he focused, he could sense their heart racing.

“Yezz,” said the Prince. “Thozze zztrikezz are zzomething elzze.”

“Did I hurt you?”

“No, the oppozzite,” the demon breathed. “The zzame energy that makezz lightning lightzz up thezze monkey brainzz that we have. Enough of it makezz me come. You uzzed to...in the Garden...you would coat your fingerzz in that energy and...I zzaid you were alwayzz good with your handzz.”

“I don’t remember...”

“I know,” the demon said. “You lozzt more than me, I guezz, when She took your memoriezz. You zztopped experimenting with your powerzz...forgot all the progrezz we made together.”

“How are you even able to do that again?” Gabriel asked. “Climax, I mean?”

“Healer,” the Prince said, with a wave of one hand. “I can keep going. Forever, maybe. The lightning wazz juzzt really intenzze.”

“Was it like that in Enoch? When I struck that temple?”

“Zztonger in Enoch. I wazzn’t expecting it. And less of me was touching you.”

“Oh.”

A lavish cart, the type more properly called a wheelhouse or carriage, pulled up to the gate. It was a thing of beauty, carved wood inlaid with metals and stones, pulled by a roan ox. A man in brightly dyed robes embroidered with gold and silver stepped out of the cart, followed by a woman in deep blue silks that tapered to black at the hem. The man held his hand out for his companion, who stepped lightly and easily onto the road. The woman’s pale, heart-shaped face was covered in a black veil, but Gabriel recognized her black eyes as she took in the wreckage of the temple.

“ZZemiramizz," Prince Beelzebub confirmed. “Come, zzet me down. Then hide yourzzelf.”

Gabriel landed behind the smoking heap. His Prince kissed him once more before sliding to the ground. They were still a bit shaky on their feet, but Gabriel steadied them. He slipped into the realm that usually hid his wings. Prince Beelzebub watched him go before turning to King Nimrod and his procession. Gabriel followed the demon as they picked their way to the gate.

The smoke and soot parted for the Demon Prince, and the entire entourage of the king gasped as they opened the gate. Gabriel stood just behind the Prince, ostensibly invisible. However, Semiramis’ black eyes found his and held his gaze in a way that told him that she, the daughter of Lamia, knew exactly where he was.

Possibly, she also knew who he was.

“King Nimrod, zzon of Cush, grandzzon of Hamm and great-grandzzon of Noah, I have brought tidingzz to you and your Queen, Zzemiramizz of the Lamia,” Prince Beelzebub said, gently. The smoke and dust of the worksite enveloped the king, queen, and their retainers. They could see and hear the Prince, but Gabriel knew that there would be no other onlookers. “Will you hear me, your Majezzty?”

“Yes,” King Nimrod said. “We honor the Nameless Bride of Death.”

“And her husband,” Semiramis said, coolly, staring straight at Gabriel.

“Yes, him, as well,” King Nimrod said, a bit confused. “Yes, and the Thunder God. Have we offended you or your husband, my lady?”

“You have offended the one true God, King Nimrod. You have offended the God of your forefather, Noah,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Thizz temple izz dezztroyed. From the zzmoke and ash shall arizze zzeventy-two tonguezz, where there wazz only one before.”

“What is this strange news, my lady?” King Nimrod asked. “Is this why my words feel so strange in my mouth?”

“It izz zzo,” Prince Beelzebub said with a nod. “But there izz more that you muzzt know. In time, a boy child shall be born in your landzz, and he shall bring the word of the one true God to your people. Your hateful idolatry will end at the handzz of thizz boy, Abram.”

“How could you?” Semiramis shouted, pointing a dainty, bejeweled finger at Prince Beelzebub. “How could you? My Great Mother counts you as a friend. I know your name! I know you, Remiel! How could you do this? How could you destroy our temple? How could you let your Archangel do it? My Great Mother called you friend! Remiel! I know your name.”

“You know lezz and lezz, zzweet Zzemiramizz,” the demon said, sadly. Prince Beelzebub opened their robes, letting the fabric fall to the street. They stood before the King and Queen, and their entourage, nude. Slowly, they drew their wings out of the second realm.

Then, the skin around their neck shone with something. It was silver, thick, and heavy looking. A metal collar. Gabriel moved slowly, stepping around his Prince for a better look. Other heavy restraints appeared, shackles around the demon’s wrists and ankles. Chains looped the demon’s waist. More chains linked wrists to waist, ankle to ankle. Slender loops captured Prince Beelzebub’s nipples and a chain hung between them. A chain ran from the waist to a shackle around his Prince’s cock, and then between the legs and back up, between their slender wings, to the collar.

Semiramis did not seem to notice Gabriel right beside her. She was too shocked by the sight of the demon in chains before her. Frankly, so was Gabriel.

Prince Beelzebub’s eyes welled up with hot, bright tears. Pain and shame warred with each other as they forced themselves to continue.

“I wear the chainzz of my true Mazzter. Not zzome made-up Thunder God, nor Death, nor even Luzzifer, the great Zzatan. I am the property of the one named Elohim, Yahweh, the namelezz wind god of the Hebrewzz. Azz are you, and your Great Mother, and all of her zzpawn.”

King Nimrod changed in that moment, his quiet and questioning repose vanished. It was replaced by a terrible leer. Gabriel was seized by a sudden urge to strike the man down, as the King’s greedy eyes drank in the sight of his demon, naked and chained and helpless.

He did not strike down mortals without permission of God. Well, he had never smited any mortal individually before, but he wanted to smite this mortal. More accurately, he wanted to rip his lecherous eyes out of his head. He stayed his hand, for the sake of his Prince, whose eyes never left the King’s own.

Something had changed in King Nimrod, and it was not a good change.

“We do not recognize this God, and He is not welcome here,” Queen Semiramis said, haughtily.

“Pray, look. Your huzzband hazz already figured a courzze of action, my lady.”

“Yes,” said King Nimrod. But the voice that came from the King was not his own. His own voice was full, but soft. King Nimrod spoke gently and with curiosity. Above all things, the King seemed a kindly man. This voice, the King’s new voice, was reedy, thin, and accented in a way that Gabriel recognized from the Garden. “I shall kill them. All of the babies born on my lands must die.”

“Azz you will, King Nimrod, but that izz the prophezzy. It shall not change,” Prince Beelzebub replied. “The child will zztill come. Repent of your zzinzz, and God will welcome you into the Zzelezztial Choruzz when it comezz time for you to releazze your mortal coil.”

“This is madness!” Queen Semiramis said. “You can’t just kill every child born into your lands! The people will rebel!”

“Woman, hold your tongue,” the King whined. “I have given my orders, and I expect that they will be followed. Summon all of the midwives and tell them that this is my order and they will follow it. You, prophetess, clothe your filthy lewdness and begone from my kingdom.”

“Azz you zzay,” Prince Beelzebub said, and dressed with a miracle.

The swirling smoke and soot began to rise, and the King went back to his cart. “Come, woman. I have matters of import to attend to.”

Queen Semiramis went to the cart, the shock of being spoken to by her husband in such a coarse manner was very clear on her face when she looked back at Gabriel and Prince Beelzebub. Out of the corner of his eye, Gabriel saw his demon mouth a word to the Queen.

That word was, “Flee.”

The Queen mounted the cart with her husband, and they were on their way back to the palace. Gabriel grabbed Prince Beelzebub by the shoulders.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.

“A prophezzy,” said Prince Beelzebub, flatly. “The birth of Abram.”

“Not that. Those chains? Where did they come from? I saw you! You were with me, naked! With your wings out!”

“They were there.”

Gabriel’s hands flew, trying to make sense of a thing that he could not wrap words or thoughts around. “I was touching you. I was INSIDE you, and I didn’t feel them!”

“They were there. Zzweet angel, we all wear them.” Their misery was palpable. “It wazz dramatic, showing them the chainzz, but I think that God izz pleazzed. I wanted Zzemiramizz to zzee them. To flee to Lilith’zz garden. Lilith can protect Zzemiramizz and her daughterzz. Zzomewhat.”

“Do you think that she will go?”

“She muzzt. That izz not her king.”

“God...was in the King.”

Prince Beelzebub nodded. “We are all the Heavenly Hozzt--angel, demon, or mortal. Zzweet angel, we are poppetzz. She can take any of uzz, at any time.” The demon shrugged. “I juzzt zzhowed you my zztringzz.”

Gabriel felt weak. Sick almost.

“I muzzt go,” Prince Beelzebub said. “God wantzz me gone, zzo I muzzt obey. And, azz uzzual, I have to make a report to Luzzifer.”

“Please,” Gabriel said weakly. He didn’t even know what he wanted to ask of his Prince.

“I love you,” they said as they dissolved into a cloud of their insects. “Until next time, my love.”

Gabriel was left alone on a street that he suddenly noticed was crowded with people eager to see the wreckage that he created. An ox-drawn cart pushed past the people on the street, full of barrels of seawater. It would not be enough to stop the slow smolder of the temple.

He turned away from it all, and found the bench where he had taken his demon the night before. The mortals that were standing on it, trying to get a better look at the proceedings around the crumbled temple, stepped down and left. They suddenly remembered incredibly pressing matters that did not involve that bench. Gabriel sat down heavily and watched the humans’ salvaging efforts. He tried to think about his eventual report to Metatron, but all he could think of was what he had seen. The nude body of his Prince, bound in chains, floated unwelcome into his vision.

He was weak and powerless. He could not help them.

That image brought the creeping, nauseating thought that he might wear such chains himself. Chains that he never saw, nor felt.

What’s the use in a report, he wondered. Doesn’t She know everything? Is the report just for Metatron? For Heaven’s sake? Does it matter? Isn’t the purpose of a report to inform someone of something--Heaven or God or someone else? Or is it just another thing to keep him busy, make him feel important, keep him from whatever delights he might find in his Prince’s garden?

If he refused to do a report, would a report happen anyways? Would he just black out, and wake up with one on his desk? And the Metatron waiting impatiently?

The morning sun began to cook the clay of the city, and another cart of seawater barrels rumbled past. The sea. Land of Lamia. Last night had been the full moon, the height of Lamia’s power. His Prince kept him long enough for the sun to peek over the horizon. Long enough to ensure that She would not interfere with the destruction of the temple. Was that by design? By God’s or by Prince Beelzebub’s?

God, he thought, would welcome a confrontation that might hurt his Prince. She hated the Lord of the Flies for reasons that Gabriel could not comprehend. His sweet Prince, the one named for God’s compassion, the one who loved everything so deeply that it was a sin. The lover that he cast out of Heaven with his own hands.

His Prince, second-in-command of Hell, who did the devil’s bidding for a few stolen moments with him. For his kisses and his kindness. Who forgave him for every pain he’d caused them, and loved him fiercely and tenderly and with more passion than Gabriel thought he deserved.

His hand wandered to the bite on him. He rubbed the spot until he felt the wound open. It felt good. The pain was a memory punched into his skin.

The heat became uncomfortable, and Gabriel stood up. He would walk outside of the city to call the lightning and return to Heaven. He’d do his paperwork. He’d be good.

Gabriel was being dangerously selfish and petulant, and that needed to stop. He could see now that Prince Beelzebub, that sweet Remiel, needed him to do his duty.

He remembered God watching his Prince from inside King Nimrod, with that sickening leer. If She judged either of them to be lacking, She had ways to hurt his Prince. If hurting them didn’t get the desired results, She could hurt him and make them watch. Or make him hurt them. The possibilities of painful consequence were endless.

“We are all the Heavenly Host.”

The Lord of the Flies would know something about parasites.

He remembered the way that his Prince’s wings fluttered under his hands and imagined them shattered like glass, flaking and bleeding blackish hemolymph over their small back.

Was that Lucifer, or was that God inside of Lucifer? Did it matter, or was it the same thing?

In the end, Gabriel decided that his service to God, whatever monster She may be, was inevitable. He knew that things would go easier for his Prince if he served willingly. So, as he walked, he began to craft a report for Metatron in his head. To think on Heavenly things, and what most needs to be done.

A child ran up beside him, and grabbed his hand. It was the naked little boy from yesterday. He brought a little girl with him, naked as he was, similar in the shape of her nose and the shade of her eyes. A sister, he surmised. The boy was not talkative, and the girl looked frightened. A harelip marked her otherwise lovely face, and Gabriel did not have to ask why he had been stopped.

He knelt in the dust in front of the little girl, and reached for her. She shied away, and the bruises on her cheeks said the words that she did not. Gabriel was patient, and eventually, the child stepped from behind her brother.

She went to Gabriel, and he ran a gentle thumb over the split in her lip. It went to a cleft in her palate. Gabriel was no great healer, but humans were easy to mend. He took her bruises as well, not knowing if they came from angry parents or disgusted neighbors or other children. The little girl sneezed as he finished the mend of her palate. Gabriel withdrew a couple of warm bread rolls from his pockets for the children. They had not been in his pocket before, but that was fine. They were little children, and they were hungry. Gabriel refused to feel guilty for so small a miracle.

They took the bread and the little boy handed him something in return. A clay poppet, wrapped in black cloth, the eyes picked out in blue stones.

He held the doll in his hands as the children ran away, laughing and chewing at the soft, sweet bread he had given them. Was the doll a gift from God? A reminder? A warning? A simple coincidence?

He did not know, but he slipped the little Bride of Death into his pocket. His footsteps brought him towards the city gates, away from the sea. Eventually, he would ride his lightning to Heaven and tend to his duties.

He would be the good angel so that they both might wear their chains more lightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to me trying to explain how free will works in a world that allows for the existence of miracles. 
> 
> Fun times, but we are, thankfully, finally done with the Tower of Babel. 
> 
> And my Crawly is Iblis, the first demon to Fall. His story is messed up, and I'll eventually write it. Raphael is still around, by series canon. He sounds the horn for the Apocalypse. Gabriel sounding a horn is actually to raise the dead for judgement, and that's folk religion, not Biblical nor Apocryphal canon. Raphael blows the Apocalypse horn, and that happened in the series, so...
> 
> My girlfriend suggested Iblis, and we'll go with that. <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iblis>


	10. The Second Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel overhears a conversation in Heaven that makes him sad and tired of angelic company. Thankfully, Prince Beelzebub invites him to their home in the Florida Keys. The Prince of Hell's been working in their garden, and they need a bath.

Prince Beelzebub’s Garden, Florida Keys, A week later -- Part 1

* * *

In the end, being the good angel was easy. Gabriel found that he’d been well trained to the task. He did his reports, filed his paperwork. Verified expenses, signed documents in triplicate.

The problem with the work was not that it was endless. On the contrary, the work ended. Roughly eight hours after it began, to start again in another sixteen.

That left Gabriel with sixteen hours of empty time. Eight hours of the act of appearing busy, sixteen with nothing to do but wander the halls of Heaven and think about his situation, and to worry about his Prince.

Heaven was dull. Same pattern, same footfalls to the same desk to the same paperwork, to the same idle chatter, to the same slivers of hymns as bright as the morning from throats as fresh as grass.

It made him long, desperately, for the steady buzz of his demon, his Prince, his lover.

The halls of Heaven, sterile and barren and white as the light of the Almighty, did occasionally yield something of interest. It was seven days after the Tower of Babel fell. Gabriel was passing by an office that he assumed was empty, when a smell reached him.

Something dark and rich. A scent, thick and somehow invigorating. He took a few paces backwards, and seeing who was in the office, immediately lowered his eyes and raised the necessary miracles to be unnoticed.

“The humans are calling it ‘coffee’,” Uriel laughed, pouring a cup for Michael. “It’s foul without this and some cream.”

“Honey?” Michael asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you’d go for anything that came from Hell.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This comes from those...pokey...bugs that serve the Lord of the Flies.”

“Bees?”

“Yeah, that’s the Prince.”

“The Prince is Beelzebub, and the insect is a bee.” Uriel stirred the cream and honey into Michael’s cup. “Bug Boy did not make bees. Bees are a product of the Divine, and that’s one of the many reasons that Bug Boy is in Hell. Pretending that they could make any damned thing. Here, try it now.”

Michael brought the cup to her lips. “This is actually good.”

“Have you heard? I mean, you’ve been so deep in with the humans--” Uriel glanced around, but did not see Gabriel. “I’ve heard that Gabriel is actually fucking Bug Boy.”

Gabriel wondered who Uriel had heard that from, as the aforementioned fucking had only happened once, without any witnesses, and only seven days prior.

However, Michael just nodded. Her blue eyes shined over the rim of her cup. Eventually, she set it beside her and sighed.

“Probably, he is,” Michael said, somberly. “But I think you need an adjustment to your assessment of the situation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You never had Gabriel serving under you. I have,” Michael said. “He’s a soldier. He’s not meant to give orders, but he follows them perfectly. If God told him to go out and seduce the demon, to be everything that the demon desired, to fuck or be fucked by that demon, Gabriel would. He would follow his orders, and he’d do a damned fine job of it.”

“You think God told him to...”

“I think,” Michael said, picking her cup back up, “that Gabriel is a soldier and will do as he is told to do. He follows his orders, to the very best of his abilities. He is capable of acts that would disgust you and me--She sent him to deal with the reprobates, and he did just that. Infants, Uriel. He slaughtered them without so much as a question.”

“So, you think he’d fuck Bug Boy?”

“Fuck them, be fucked by them. Whatever God demanded from him, he would give. He is a soldier.”

“Well, that’s frankly disgusting.” Uriel sighed and sipped at her own coffee. “Are you still cross about the demotion?”

Michael laughed. “I don’t think I could fuck Bug Boy. I’d rather crawl in the mud with the Semites, thanks. Anyways, all of this,” Michael waved around at the room they were in, and more largely, at the whole of Heaven, “is his responsibility. I’d rather work with my spear and sword than a quill, any day. Gabriel’s stuck here, and we have the whole of Earth and all of human endeavor to entertain us.”

“True,” Uriel admitted. “I don’t think he’s even heard of coffee.”

“Probably has some familiarity with honey,” Michael said, with a dark, sardonic grin.

Uriel blushed, causing the gold in her cheeks to twinkle. “I bet that demon is a freak.”

“Are you going to ask?”

“No,” Uriel laughed. “I do not want to know the sexual preferences of a Prince of Hell. Nor Gabriel. Honestly, I could not tell you which would make me more uncomfortable.”

“Gabriel’s preferences don’t enter the equation,” Michael said, coolly. “He acts as God’s instrument, and if God’s decided that Bug Boy is to be serviced, Her perfect little tool gets to do the deed.”

“Gross.” Uriel made a face. “Hey! Azrael is supposed to be coming up today. I wonder if he’s heard any new songs?”

After a few minutes of listening to the two Archangels exchanging pleasantries about Earth, the weather, Azrael and Sandalphon, and new art forms Uriel had discovered or inspired, he heard them speak some quiet words about Muriel’s fragile state. Gabriel felt certain that the conversation wasn’t going to wend its way back to him. He took his leave, carefully avoiding anybody who might see him and tell Michael and Uriel that he’d been eavesdropping.

Gabriel thought it was good to know that he’d served so well under Michael that she thought of him as entirely more competent and capable than he was. Or maybe less? A soldier, she’d said. Many times.

His limited experience in fucking and his somewhat (but not entirely) broader experience in fighting told him that the two were close relatives. Maybe to someone like Michael, they were the same (though he doubted that Michael had ever experienced fucking.)

A soldier. A tool. Something to be ordered around, to be used. A puppet hanging from chains that he could not see, feel, or fight.

Gabriel found his way back to his office, even though he was not on the clock. He sat at his desk, and pulled the little clay poppet from his pocket. It stared at him with dead stone eyes. Without the consent of his higher mind, he pulled a scrap of parchment out. A quill, made from one of his own feathers, slipped between his fingers. He began to scratch at the parchment. Golden ink flowed from the quill. His own blood. Flowing into the form of a set of scales, or a line-drawing of a fly, depending on how he looked at it. The rest of the scribbles necessary, swirls and symbols, flourishes and simple lines and dots, flowed easily from his hand, through the quill, to the parchment.

He finished, running the trimmed shaft of his quill through his fingers nervously. Heaven wasn’t really the place to be holding a conversation like this, was it?

An empty mountain road. A bench in the great city at night. Nothing was safe, not really, was it? God was everywhere. God saw all.

“Sweet Prince,” he whispered over the paper.

The gold sigil flashed brightly.

“Yezz, my angel?” their voice replied, light and sweet from the paper.

Gabriel nearly wept.

*

From the upper atmosphere, it was easy to find Prince Beelzebub’s garden.

“There’zz a large landmazz, and it’zz got thizz part dangling off the eazztern coazzt. Lookzz like a penizz. There’zz a few islandzz below the land phalluzz. Only one izz green. That’zz where you’ll find me.”

Landmass, limp penis, islands. Only one was green. Only one blazed with light and life. The rest were barrier islands of sand, and a few ketches set up by locals from Penisland. Those islands, the ones that the locals fished, were white and yellow and brown.

Gabriel dove for the green island.

God’s Messenger did love flying. He was good at it, and being in the wind--the element that God had formed him from--was glorious. He watched the green island grow, take shape. Light and shadow became forms, and those forms became flowers and leaves and stems. He could smell the garden as it rose up to meet him.

Green and growing things. The smell of his Prince. His sweet Prince, who waited for him to land.

Prince Beelzebub wore a linen tunic and leather pants. No shoes. Face and hands streaked a bit with the Earth that they worked. Eyes up, reflecting the gibbous moon, watching Gabriel’s descent.

Gabriel landed on the sand with a few strong flaps. He barely had time to steady himself before he caught Prince Beelzebub, who ran to him and leapt up into his arms. They kissed him, their entire body trembling with their joy as he wrapped his wings around them.

“Zzweet angel,” said the demon. “I’ve mizzed you. Let me show you my garden.”

“It smells like Eden,” Gabriel said, withdrawing his wings into the second realm. “It’s how you always smell.”

“Mozzt of my plantzz came from Eden, but zzome are local.” Prince Beelzebub lowered their voice, a conspiratorial whisper. “Thizz plazze, the mainland, it’zz lovelier than Eden. I’ve zzpent zzome time wandering.”

“Locals ever give you any trouble?”

“They never zzee me,” Prince Beelzebub said brightly. “I wouldn’t want to frighten them. Or have them create a religion around me.”

Gabriel chuckled at that. “So they never see the island?” he surmised.

“Nope. It’zz my island. Nobody zzeezz unlezz I allow them to.”

“Who have you allowed out here?”

“You.”

“Oh.”

The Prince lowered themself back into the sand, and pulled Gabriel by the hand. “It wazz juzzt flat and brown when I came here. The humanzz didn’t uzze it for anything. They just rowed pazzt in their little boatzz. There’zz better fishing further down. I raizzed zzome land from the ozzean, and zztarted planting. My beezz found me--and my fliezz, too.”

They were taking him down a stone path that ran through the thick foliage at the end of the beach. Broad, cool leaves whispered across his skin, along a pathway built for someone a bit shorter and slimmer than Gabriel. Prince Beelzebub pulled him along, to a clearing. A little stone house waited in the center, twinkling with light. A house of glass stood beside the stone house, and Gabriel could see the press of green things against the panes. Everything here was verdant, alive, and in bloom. The bees were asleep, Gabriel knew. But the night belonged to the flies, which flitted from plant to plant. One flitted to his hand, and he stared at it. It was the size of a raisin, shining green and fat as it crawled over his knuckle. It took flight again, to join a cloud of other flies around one of Prince Beelzebub’s torches.

“It’s beautiful here,” Gabriel said.

“Thankzz.” Prince Beelzebub looped their arms around his waist. “It’s dark now, zzo I think we can wait on zzeeing the gardenzz. I wazz working in the glazz houzze. I need a bath. Feel like zzplashing around with me?”

Gabriel nodded, and his Prince led him not to the stone house, but to the glass one. The glass house was warmer than the night, and smelled like a concentrated version of the garden outside. Saplings waited in clay pots and wooden shelves held trenchered-out logs that sprouted all manner of (probably edible) greens. He could smell herbs, savory onion and garlic. Sweet basil. Others that he could not name.

Prince Beelzebub led him to an alcove containing a heavy copper bathtub that looked like it would hold both of them comfortably. The copper was pressed with images of flowers and insects, and potted plants that he did not recognize surrounded it. Prince Beelzebub worked the miracle that would fill the tub.

“Hope you like it hot,” they said.

Gabriel had never had a bath, though he knew what they were. Miracles to clean one’s corporation were always allowed by Heaven. So, he wasn’t sure what he preferred.

An expanse of time spent skin-to-skin with his demon. He preferred that.

The demon opened a tall cabinet and pulled a few towels out, along with some other things. They threw a sweet-smelling powder into the water. Lavender and mint. He recognized those smells, and an old memory named them for him.

“You uzzed to like lavender,” they said. “Mint, too. I grew it for you, here. In cazze I could get you back.”

A memory that he could almost see. Someone, a small someone whose face and form remained obscured, excitedly handing him flowers and plants. Their sweet words, in a voice without a buzzing lisp, telling him the name of each one. The knowledge that Adam had already named the plants. Those names acting upon him as magic words, triggering a rush of knowledge. Medicinal uses, edibility, lore from cultures yet to be born. Gabriel remembered understanding lavender and mint as concepts, not just plants.

The Prince shrugged out of their shirt and slipped their pants down. There was a wooden rack for their clothes, and they draped them across one of the crossbars.

Their lack of modesty around him, their complete trust in him, was overwhelming. How many demons would wear nothing but their skin around an angel? An Archangel, besides?

Not many. Probably just this one.

And yet, he could not stop looking for the chains. No silver shone anywhere on his Prince. Their skin was dusted with the moonglow and the golden, warm lights of a few lanterns. He saw no metal, capturing them and holding them hostage.

No rings through their softest parts. No shackle on their cock.

The Prince set a basket of sponges and soaps on a stool beside the tub, and hung up the towels.

“If you have to pizz, I have a lemon tree that could uzze zzome watering,” they said, absently. “It’zz good for the fruit. Wait, you don’t pizz, do you?”

“Nope,” Gabriel said.

“Well, then,” they replied, their hands finding the collar of his robes. “You’re overdrezzed for thizz, my love.”

Gabriel slipped out of his robes, allowing Prince Beelzebub to take them away. They hung them beside their leather and linen.

“You firzzt,” Prince Beelzebub said as the water slowed to a trickle.

The room smelled of living plants, of the mint and lavender in the water, of warm copper. Gabriel stepped into the tub. It was hot enough to make tea. He sank into it, and his demon followed him. They straddled his legs in the water, and leaned against him, pressing their cheek to his chest.

He wrapped his arms around Prince Beelzebub’s back, and they sighed. “There were poolzz around Eden. Do you remember?”

“I remember very little of the garden.”

“That’zz a terrible lozz,” Prince Beelzebub said, their tone gently sincere. “The Garden wazz lovely. I don’t remember who found the hot zzpringzz firzzt. Maybe we were together? Doezzn’t matter. Anywayzz, it wazz a bit like thizz.”

They leaned back from him and unbound their hair. The Prince shook it out of its braid, and it fell, long and black and sleek, down their back. Gabriel ran his fingers through it, and the demon shivered.

“It’s so...pretty,” Gabriel said as he carded his fingers from dry hair to the part that soaked in the bath.

“Pretty?” the demon asked, flushing.

“Pretty,” Gabriel confirmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derivative works are awesome, but please cite me for the original concept and also link to my work? Thanks. 
> 
> More smut in the next chapter!


	11. Daemon est Deus Inversus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Beelzebub and Gabriel talk about God and their place in Her world. They comfort each other, afterwards.
> 
> TW: Mention of rape. It's brief and not explicit.

“It’s so...pretty,” Gabriel said as he carded his fingers from dry hair to the part that soaked in the bath.

“Pretty?” the demon asked, flushing.

“Pretty,” Gabriel confirmed. “I remember this. I think. Maybe? I mean, I remember doing this to...someone. Pretty sure it was you.”

“Muzzt have been,” Prince Beelzebub sighed under his hands. “I wazz your only lover. Azz far azz I know.”

“What does that mean?” Gabriel asked, a bit more tersely than he intended.

“I wazzn’t with you, my love,” they said. “Not zzinzze the Garden. I think you would have mentioned if you had another angel. Or a mortal. Or a demon.”

“I don’t. I never did!”

“Don’t get defenzzive,” they said lazily. “Zzweet angel, I’d never hold it againzzt you. She made you forget me...zzo, if you found zzome comfort over the zzenturiezz, why would I hold that againzzt you?”

_Because I would hold it against you_, Gabriel thought. If he had Fallen instead, and Remiel had taken another lover, he knew he’d end that person--celestial, infernal, or mortal. And Remiel? Remiel would know his fury at being replaced.

That was terribly petty. Unkind. Unangelic, even. He decided not to speak. Instead, he just stroked his demon and enjoyed the warmth of the bath.

“Anywayzz, I would never know if it wazz what you wanted or God inzzide you. Forzzing you. She’zz fond of punishing people like that, azz I’m zzure Zzemiramizz hazz dizzcovered.”

“I didn’t...I didn’t even think about that.”

“It’zz never happened to me, but...in the Garden...Adam wazz only interezzted in the animalzz, then zzuddenly zztarted hurting Lilith? Raping her? It never made zzenzze, and hizz face when he did it?” His demon shivered. “Zzickening.”

“He looked like Nimrod.”

“He did.”

“God just...does that? Takes people’s bodies and just...uses them?”

Prince Beelzebub nodded, holding Gabriel’s gaze. “She hazzn’t to me, though. I dizzguzzt Her, and I alwayzz have. She hazz never looked upon me with luzzt.”

“I saw how Nimrod looked at you.”

“That’zz not luzzt. Not real luzzt,” the demon said. “I know what luzzt lookzz like. No, that? That wazz...power. I’ve zzeen it before. Many times on many fazzezz.”

“Power?”

“Power. Triumph, victory, pride. I wazz where She wanted me to be. In my plazze, in Her chainzz, trying not to zzcream or cry in front of you. Trying to explain. To Zzemiramizz. To you.”

“It looked like lust to me,” Gabriel insisted, stubbornly.

“If She wanted to fuck me, She would have by now,” Prince Beelzebub said with a shrug. “She getzz off on the chainzz and my weaknezz, yezz. But She’zz never hurt me like that. I know that I dizzguzzt Her too much for it.”

“But,” Gabriel said, “Why would She make something that disgusts Her?”

“Good quezztion.” The Prince said.

“She doesn’t like the bugs...” Gabriel said. That particular memory was fresh as a skinned knee that wouldn’t heal. “After our...after we fought...Uriel demanded that Sandalphon take me to Heaven. She thought I was dying.”

“You were,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Without intervention, you would have dizzcorporated. I told them that you would require azzizztanzze.”

Gabriel shuddered. “You are...terrifying. Really.”

“Thankzz.”

“So I ended up in front of God, who healed me and demanded to know how I ended up nearly dead at Her feet. I told Her,” Gabriel paused. “When I told her that your insects went inside me, She said, ‘Eww.’ She was disgusted, and I didn’t really think about it until the mountain...you said camel shit and stardust were made of the same stuff. And that sounds--“ Gabriel threw his hands out in a gesture that encompassed the room, the world, his thoughts. His voice went low and his gaze focused hard on his demon. “That sounds like something that a maker of THINGS would SAY. I’ve never heard Her say anything even close to that.”

Prince Beelzebub leaned against his chest again, and he wrapped his arms around them.

“I agree with you. She didn’t make thizz plazze.”

“Who do you think did?”

“Honezztly?”

“Yeah. I mean, of course. Yes.”

“Uzz.”

“Well, yes,” Gabriel blurted. “Angels were tasked with some minor work. Some of us hung stars for Her. I’m proud of my work with the clouds.”

“I’m talking about dezzign, not execution.” Prince Beelzebub stroked his chest. “I know that making inzzectzz felt zzo...natural. And there were no inzzectzz before I made them. I wazzn’t given any orderzz. God didn’t zzay, ‘Remiel, take zzome clay and make yourzzelf a bunch of wormzz’.” The demon paused, circling one of Gabriel’s nipples with a small, sharp fingernail. “But, nothing in thizz world would work without inzzectzz. No fruit without my pollinatorzz, no rot without my wormzz, and my mozzquitozz zzpread the dizzeazzezz that thinzz the herdzz of animalzz and man. The birdzz and the batzz and zzo many otherzz eat nothing but inzzectzz.”

“Isn’t that all just part of the Great Design?”

Prince Beelzebub shook their head. “What Great Dezzign? What God would make a world with thingzz that dizzguzzt Her? Why would She make me?”

“To make the bugs?” Gabriel suggested.

“She hatezz the bugzz. She could have made thingzz that She found to be more...attractive, _nu_? Lezz grozz, but zztill able to complete their tazzks...” his Prince said. “And why uzze ME? For anything? If I dizzpleassed her, she could have dizzcorporated me, zztarted over. She could have given my tazzkzz to anyone elzze? She could have made anyone elzze to zzerve Her. Why would She keep a creation that She hazz rezzented from...well...my very beginning?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t know either. Exzzept...that Luzzifer findzz me uzzeful.” Prince Beelzebub pressed their face into Gabriel’s chest. He could barely hear them when they said, “Even then, She could have made zzomeone more pleazzing to both of them. I know that Luzzifer izz juzzt God. There izz nothing of hizz old zzelf left.”

Gabriel startled. “Say what?”

Their blue eyes on him, studying him. Their lips trying to make the words. “After I defeated you, in the cavernzz,” they said, “I brought your zzpear and armor to Luzzifer, to prove myzzelf. And he made me recount the battle. Azzked for detailzz. Gloated from hizz zzickbed. And, while I wazz giving him what he wanted, he zzmirked at me.” They surged forward, throwing their arms around Gabriel’s neck and whispering the next words into his ear. “It wazz the zzame look on That Bitch’zz fazze when She made you throw me down.”

“The same look?” Gabriel echoed. He remembered. It was the same look on King Nimrod’s face as he watched Prince Beelzebub struggle to explain the chains. The darkest victory, the most self-satisfied victory he could imagine. She was pleased with their suffering, and pleased with Herself.

“You muzzt underzztand, zzweet angel, She hatezz our love azz much azz She hatezz me. She hatezz that Her highezzt azzozziatezz with zzomething like me.”

“Why would she let me be here, then? With you?”

“I believe that it’zz our payment, for playing Her gamezz.” Tears fell to the skin of his neck, where their face nestled. They breathed him in, running their fingers through his hair. “If we make Her happy, I think we get each other.”

“Oh.”

Thizz plazze--there’zz no way She doezzn’t know about it. Thizz--my houzze and our time together--I think it izz to placate uzz. Keep uzz dozzile and zzubzzervient.” They leaned up and Gabriel thumbed the tears from their lovely eyes. They took his hand and kissed it. “What would you do to be back here?”

“Anything,” he said, without hesitation.

“Azz would I.” They laid his hand on their chest, on a breast that swelled under his touch. “If thizz izz a reward, I mean to enjoy myzzelf.”

Their kisses fell on his face as he touched them, thumbing over the nipple that reached for him nearly as eagerly as he reached for it. This close, he could smell the earth on the Prince’s skin. Smell of clay, so close to the smell of Babylon baking under the morning sun. Mixing with the sweet smell of the bath, with the scent of his demon.

Angels smelled like flowers. Well, mostly. Gabriel tended to smell like petrichlor, which was technically a plant smell. Prince Beelzebub smelled like flowers.

Did all demons smell like flowers? Did all demons taste so sweet? Gabriel didn’t think so.

“You kept your cock,” Prince Beelzebub said, surprised, as their hands slipped below the water to explore.

Gabriel flushed and gave what he hoped was a winning smile. “About that. I would have had to explain the miracling away of an Effort. That could be...uncomfortable. I’d have to explain how I ended up with an Effort to begin with--one that I didn’t make myself. If you leave me with a cock, I can’t exactly...get rid of it.”

“I am zzo zzorry!” the demon laughed. “Oh, Gabriel! I should have thought...I could have plazzed you in danger...”

“No problem. Nobody asked. I really don’t think anybody even cares if I’m there or not.”

“That’zz the zzituation in Hell,” they said, their hands beginning to work Gabriel’s flesh. Pressing their Efforts together and rubbing. Making them both hard. “My offizze izz connected to my houzze. I only go in when I have to. Paperwork comezz to me, and Dagon remainzz a tremendouzz azzet.”

“You’ve...oh...you’ve mentioned.” Gabriel’s hands went to his Prince, eager to return the pleasure that they were giving him.

“That’zz nizze,” they murmured as he slipped a finger inside. They knelt up, giving Gabriel more room to work. Their hands didn’t leave his Effort. “More,” they said, voice thick with need.

Gabriel did as he was asked, sliding another finger deep inside them. He did this without any finesse or grace, guessing that the pain that he caused would be welcome. He felt their nails rake his shoulder as they groaned.

It felt good. Raw and beautiful. Passionate. He kept working at his Prince, who was praying to him. Calling for him in a pidgin mix of four or five languages. Gabriel smiled to himself as he forced them to open for him.

“Relax for me,” he said. It was an order, though gently given. Still, he was surprised when his Prince obeyed. He felt their muscles unclench around his fingers. Of course, they would have that kind of control. They were a Healer. “Wetter,” he said, and they became miraculously slick inside.

He wanted more, and he was hard enough for it. He guided their hips down, and his Prince guided his Effort inside. He sighed as they settled all the way down.

“No pain. Not this time--I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“Really?” they said, quirking an eyebrow at him. “But I like it.”

“Let’s try it like this,” he said.

His Prince chuckled softly and draped their arms over his neck. “Yezz, let’zz zzee how long you can control yourzzelf.”

“Control myself? Really?”

They moaned into his ear as they began to rock on him. Agonizingly slow, grinding against him, Gabriel felt their muscles clench and unclench around him.

“You’re teasing me,” he said.

His demon laughed and kissed him, sliding up and down on him so slowly. “I’m being gentle, zzweet angel.” Their tone was mocking, but only slightly so.

Gabriel grabbed their hips and shoved them down on him, roughly. The Prince cried out, but it was not a cry of pain. “Is this what you want?”

“I want everything,” Prince Beelzebub said, “I am a creature of dezzire. Prinzze of Gluttony, remember?” They rocked on him again, faster and harder this time. “Above all thingzz, though, I dezzire you. I want you in every way that I can have you.”

“Every way?”

“You’ve forgotten the old experimentzz, zzo we should zztart again.”

Gabriel raised a hand in front of their face. Silvery violet electricity crackled around his fingers, settling into a glow that he wore like a glove. Heat lightning radiating the scent of ozone and glowed.

He reached for them, caressing their cheek. The demon gasped, and hissed out a long, “Yezz,” as his fingers travelled down their neck, between their breasts and below their waist. His Prince cried out as he found their cock under the water.

It was not a cry of pain.

Now, they were riding him in earnest, and now he felt the storm rising in him. Soon, it would break over both of them. He felt his Prince clench, felt his own cock release inside them a heartbeat later. A cloud of black, like squid’s ink, bloomed in the water around his glowing hand. He let the lightning go, but kept stroking his demon, slowing to match their rhythm.

His Prince laid against his chest. Their sweat had turned the dusty smudges on their face into a thin sheen of mud. Which they were now rubbing onto his chest.

Well, camel shit and stardust. He draped a comfortable arm across their back.

“That was a nizze zztart,” they murmured, reaching for their basket of sponges and soaps. “Let’zz get cleaned up. I have a houzze I want to show you. And a bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Florida Keys will be Beelzebub's home base for the foreseeable. (Makes note to check Wikipedia for hurricanes that smashed the Keys.) 
> 
> Does this mean that (eventually) one of our heroes will do something weird enough to become known as "Florida man"?
> 
> Time will tell. For now, they're your run-of-the-mill local cryptids.
> 
> Re: the science of electric bath sex -- water is an insulator, not a conductor. And these are not humans. Do not try this at home.


	12. Hurt and Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bathing, and talk of the past. A memory manages to work its way to the surface, and Gabriel knows who Dagon's old lover was.
> 
> Also, smut.

“That was a nizze zztart,” they murmured, reaching for their basket of sponges and soaps. “Let’zz get cleaned up. I have a houzze I want to show you. And a bed.”

The humans believed that the act of bathing another person’s body was an act of great service. It was a holy thing, a ritual of humility and grace. Gabriel had seen humans do it before, during his times on Earth. Seeing a thing was different from experiencing it.

Gabriel had never bathed before. Miracles were enough to keep his corporation clean, on those few occasions where he’d required it. He’d never used physical, mortal methods to keep clean.

He wasn’t aware of how sensual it was. His demon was careful, worshipful in their work. They turned him around, facing his back, and poured the scented water over his head. Their clever, quick fingers worked the oils through his hair, and then they combed it through. He had quite a bit of hair, and demon pulled a bone comb through it in long, sweeping strokes that soothed him.

Prince Beelzebub twisted his hair and pinned it to the top of his head, and then sluiced his shoulders with hot water. There was an intimacy in the cleansing. The demon’s touch was gentle, but thorough. They touched every part of him, cleaning with brush or sponge, taking so much time (and so much care) with an activity (the cleansing of his corporation) that he usually took no time and no care with.

The oil and ash to scrubbed the filth from his skin, scratching as the perfume from the oil (lavender and a few other flowers) rose up from his skin. There were gentle touches and endearments from the demon as one part or another of Gabriel emerged, clean, from beneath their hands. Kiss to the back of the neck. To the shoulders. Arms wrapped around him and cheek pressed to his back.

The bath never got any colder, and in spite of the washing (and their previous activities) it never seemed to get any dirtier.

Prince Beelzebub turned him around to wash the front.

“Clozze your eyezz,” the demon said. “Thizz hurtzz if it getzz in your eyezz.”

“You can miracle it out, right?”

“Yezz, but it zztill hurtzz until you miracle it away,” they laughed. “I’m zztill not uzzed to uzzing miraclezz for everything.”

“Seriously?”

“Look, it uzzed to be different. In the Garden? You got azz many miraclezz azz you needed, and me? Lowezzt of the Archangelzz? Let’zz juzzt say that I learned how to do lotzz of zztuff practically.”

“Did you ever get in trouble?”

The demon nodded, a dark humor in the way their mouth turned up in one corner. “Yezz, you were very zztrict with me.”

“Me?”

“She’d zzend you to reprimand me if She thought I wazz being egregiouzz. I alwayzz had excuzzezz, and eventually we both had feelingzz--it didn’t take long,” Prince Beelzebub glowed with the memory. “I zztarted doing unauthorizzed miraclezz zzo you’d come and zzee me. You actually got crozz with me for that, and zzo you juzzt ordered me by your zzide if you were in the Garden.”

“I was...your supervisor?”

“Yezz and no. You were way higher up than me. I worked in the Gardenzz, and you were mozztly by Her zzide in Heaven,” they explained. “I directly reported to Uriel, who encouraged uzz.”

“Did she?”

“She liked our reportzz.”

“Yeah, but as your supervisor, even if I was way up the ladder--especially since I was way up the ladder--that’s terribly unethical, don’t you think?”

“Technically, we were both Archangelzz,” Prince Beelzebub said. “There wazz not zzupposed to be a hierarchy between uzz. Both doing God’zz work.”

“Wow, that sounds really familiar.”

“It’s what I told you, after I bowed to Adam.”

“Bowed to Adam?”

“Angelzz didn’t get corporationzz until we bowed to Adam, you remember that, _nu_?”

“Yeah. I remember that.” Gabriel did. It was a nightmare. There was an angel, maybe an Archangel, maybe Satan himself, who would not bow because the humans were made of clay. Others had other reasons.

“There was a group of uzz who only bowed to Lilith--do you remember that?”

“Yes. But it’s strange. I remember it happening, but I don’t remember any of the angels that did that.”

Prince Beelzebub gave him a pointed look and Gabriel realized.

“They all Fell,” he said.

The demon nodded. “I wazz the only one of them to eventually bow to Adam, becauzze I wanted zzkin. Becauzze I wanted you.”

He remembered...a meeting of several of the Archangels. It was just past the dawn in the Garden. He remembered the tremulous voice of the smallest Archangel, who said for the second or third time, “There’s something wrong with him. He’s cruel. He’s got no compassion.”

They stood very close to him, but not touching. Unsurprising, as they were discorporated, and he would not have been able to feel them.

Someone else saying, “I’ve got no problem with the female. She was made just fine. But the male...God made him from the clay near the fig orchard.”

“Where we empty our bowels?” Another voice. Another form unrecognized.

“Yeah. I’m not going to bow to him. He’s made, literally, of shit.”

“Angel shit and stardust are made of the same stuff, Iblis,” the small Archangel had said. “It’s clay. Clay is clay. It’s just...really well extruded.”

Laughter at that.

“I don’t know that the process of travelling through one of us might have changed that clay, Remy,” said the one that his memory named Iblis. “Adam is too lucky. He’s dangerous, and he’s disgusting. I’m not bowing to that. We still have time, don’t we, Gabe?” A face, half-remembered, regarded him with those luminous golden eyes.

“Until She says that you don’t,” Gabriel replied.

“You know what? I’m doing exactly what She says. I’m going to think about it,” Iblis said. “I don’t have to make a choice, and I’m not going to.”

“Adam...we’ve tried to teach him, Gabriel. But he’s so cruel. To Lilith and the animals.” He remembered the smallest Archangel, just a flash. Bright blue eyes, black hair, their fears writ large on small features as they worried their lower lip. “We’ve already bowed to the female...but we must bow to him as well?”

“Well, yeah. If you want to be enfleshed.” He ran a hand through them, making his point. He remembered the feeling of loss. He’d only been enfleshed recently, and the two of them had been unable to touch since.

“I could probably do that myself,” Remiel said. “I can find some clay, couldn’t be harder than making a bug.”

“NO!” Gabriel shouted, startling the group, including Michael and Uriel, the latter of whom was dandling...someone...on her knees. “Absolutely not. You are already in trouble for the bugs.”

Remiel shrugged. “I remedied an oversight,” they said stubbornly.

“You get a body from God, alright? You don’t make your own.”

“I’d trust them to make me some skin before I’d trust Her,” Iblis said, wrapping an arm around Remiel.

Jealousy flared in Gabriel. Not because Iblis was a threat, but because Iblis, being uncorporated, could touch them.

“Your faith in me is wonderful, Iblis, but Raphael would be better.”

“Raphael is not making anything that Raphael was not told to,” Raphael said, leaning casually against a tree. “And frankly, neither should you.”

“The bugs worked out,” Remiel persisted. “But I’m not going to do anything to get Gabriel into trouble.”

“Just bow,” he said, very near the end of his patience. “She’s getting mad that you haven’t.”

“I won’t,” said a tall blond Archangel. That one, he remembered. Lucifer. “I won’t ever. Iblis is right, and so is Remiel. Adam is cruel, and he’s clay. I’m fire, for fuck’s sake.”

“No element is superior,” Remiel said with a shrug. “A rainstorm puts out fire and crumbles clay alike. Clay can smother fire. Wind can stir a storm, or blow away a cloud.”

“And are you going to bow, then? Bow to the king of shit?” Lucifer asked, leaning over the little Archangel, who did not shrink from him.

“If I do, it would be for Gabriel and not for Adam, nor God.”

“Step off,” Iblis said to Lucifer.

“I don’t know if that would count,” Gabriel remembered himself saying. “Bowing, but not meaning it.”

“She only cares that we follow Her orders,” Remiel said. “She doesn’t care why we do anything.”

“Then just bow,” Uriel said. “As you can see, there are benefits.” She lowered her face, brushing lips with her someone.

Her someone said, “It matters little and less, for me, Uriel. It’s wrong to put the same weight on any of the Garden angels. I’m mostly in Heaven, scribbling for Raziel and the Metatron.”

A scribe? The scribe. Oh. God, no.

“Dagon,” Gabriel said. Not in his memory, but out loud.

“Dagon? What about her?”

“I remembered something. There was a meeting in the Garden. I was trying to get you to bow to Adam, all of you. And Uriel was there,” he said. “I mean, all the Archangels were there. I’d just been encorporated, and I was trying to convince you...well, because I missed you. I saw Uriel there. She had Dagon on her lap.”

Prince Beelzebub wilted a little bit. “Yezz, that’zz zzo.”

“Uriel and Dagon, that’s right,” Gabriel said. “They were...like us.”

“Loverzz,” they confirmed.

“You bowed, though, after that.”

“I did. For you. For skin. To be able to touch you again.” They ran a soft hand over his cheek. “You were concerned with zzin. Zzinzz of the flesh. It wazz a new conzzept, becauzze flesh was new to us. All the thingzz we did azz dizzcorporated zzpiritzz, that wazzn’t zzin. But the flesh wazz a tool, and She really didn’t like it when we mizzappropriated rezzourzzezz. And you were conzzerned azz well, quite zzuddenly, with the differenzze in our pozzitionzz. But that had more to do with Uriel getting an offizzial reprimand for Dagon, who was just an angel. Not an Archangel.”

“So you told me that it didn’t matter.”

“It didn’t,” Prince Beelzebub said, with the same steadfast stubbornness that his memory of Remiel had. “You were never able to deny me anything, anywayzz.”

They climbed into his lap, lips finding his. He returned their affection, pulling them tight against him.

“Yeah, thizz izz how mozzt of the reprimandzz went. ‘Remiel, why do you do thezze thingzz?’ Becauzze I do. I feel very reprimanded, Mizzter Archangel. I am heartily zzorry for having offended Her Greatnezz. You are a very zztrong, intimidating Archangel,” they laughed. “The zzex after I mocked you was alwayzz...fierzze. You rewarded my bad behavior.”

“I hurt you?”

“It wazz mutual. Thozze little love bitezz hurt, don’t they?”

“It’s not...a bad feeling.”

“You never harmed me, zzweet angel. You never did anything I didn’t want,” they said. “Hurt and harm are different. Frankly, we both like pain. We’re not humanzz. We know that we can heal it, zzo it’zz juzzt another experienzze.”

“What is ‘harm’, then?”

“Zzomething that doezzn’t heal,” his Prince said. “You’ve never harmed me. Now, cloze your eyezz and let me wash your fazze.”

Another kiss, and then his demon started with the oils and ashes again. As always, they took great care while handling his face. Their touch was gentle, and the scrubbing, thorough. They rinsed the oil and ashes from him, and then continued working their way down. They lingered at his Effort, gentle and teasing. Not enough sensation to get him hard, but enough to get him interested. Then, those clever hands went to his thighs and lower.

“You’re clean,” they said, handing him the basket of oils, ashes, brushes, and sponges.

The Prince turned their back to him and their wings shifted into the first plane. Gabriel ran his fingers over them, and his demon shuddered.

He picked up the gourd that Prince Beelzebub used to pour water over his head. He dipped it into the bath, and then poured the scented water over Prince Beelzebub’s head. The Lord of the Flies leaned back, allowing the water to cascade over their closed eyes, to fall through their hair.

Gabriel’s work on his Prince was not as graceful as the demon’s ministrations to him had been. But he was a quick learner, and followed instructions well. Prince Beelzebub’s hair ran as long as Gabriel’s, and that presented a challenge. He was eager to please them. They guided him through the process. He was gentle as he could be with the comb and oils. They showed him how to twist the hair and pin it in place, and then he started the process of cleaning their skin.

Prince Beelzebub buzzed and moaned their pleasure to him, and he found that he enjoyed this form of intimacy. This act, caring for someone else like this, was more personal than sex. There was a vulnerability to it. A level of trust and reverence to the cleansing of a corporation.

Miracling himself clean seemed so cold compared to this.

They had a special brush for their wings, one with very soft bristles. The sounds that they made as he worked the fine-ground ash and oils into the thin membrane were enough to rouse him. He admired his work. The wings glowed in the dim light of Prince Beelzebub’s lanterns. After he had finished with the ash and oil, and sluiced enough water over their wings to rinse them quite thoroughly, they settled against him in his lap.

The demon’s hands slipped behind them, to the flesh that swelled between the small of their back and Gabriel’s belly. His own hands ran down his Prince’s chest to their cock, which was ready for his hands.

“Wingzz are zzenzzitive...” they said, their voice sounding a bit drowsy. “At thizz point, I’ll agree to anything. Uzze your power wizzely, zzweet angel.”

Gabriel lowered his lips to Prince Beelzebub’s small shoulder, and kissed it. “This is nice,” he said as they began to work his cock.

“Mmm...” they said, releasing him. They raised themself up and lowering themself onto him. They felt so good around him. “Come, angel,” they said, lazily draping their head on his shoulder. “Touch me, pleazze...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the kudos and comments. I will reply to every single one. Love to you all.


	13. Song of the Glass House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they finally leave the tub, and Gabriel sees the house that his Prince built.

“Wingzz are zzenzzitive...” they said, their voice sounding a bit drowsy. “At thizz point, I’ll agree to anything. Uzze your power wizzely, zzweet angel.”

Gabriel lowered his lips to Prince Beelzebub’s small shoulder, and kissed it. “This is nice,” he said as they began to work his cock.

“Mmm...” they said, releasing him. They raised themself up and lowering themself onto him. They felt so good around him. “Come, angel,” they said, lazily draping their head on his shoulder. “Touch me, pleazze...”

He did. He touched and he kissed and he nibbled. He took his time, letting them build up, and then slacking off, moving his attentions to other parts of them. He lifted them up, draping one of their arms round his shoulders, getting his mouth on a nipple as his hand worked their cock. As he pushed into them.

The sounds that they made in their pleasure, the weak moans and the soft buzzes, pushed him to continue exploring. They fell like rain, gentle and cleansing. His name fell from their lips, over and over.

Eventually, they began to plead for him to allow them to climax. He liked them like this, senseless in their pleasure and begging him for release. Calling him by name in a voice that made the word into a prayer.

Other angels Fell for less than the worship of a demon. Gabriel didn’t think that he would Fall. He was useful in Heaven. His demon was useful in Hell. God designed things this way.

He felt himself reaching the end, where he wouldn’t be able to hold back any longer. He folded his Prince against the lip of the bathtub. On their knees in front of him, wings fluttering softly, bathed in the soft, warm light of the lanterns, they were beautiful. He drove into them, reaching around for their cock. His other hand found the edge of the bathtub. He held tight there, and felt his demons lips brush his knuckles.

He slid as far out as he could, and drove into them hard and fast. The demon cried out for him. He gave them no time to recover, using long, deep strokes until he felt that sweet pain in the base of his spine. Until his spilled into the demon, and the demon spilled into his hand.

He pulled them back, into his lap. The water parted for him as he splashed backwards. When they landed, he was still inside his demon, Effort twitching as his blood ebbed. Prince Beelzebub turned their face up to Gabriel and kissed him.

Gabriel held them to him, hand across their chest. He kept stroking them, kissing neck and shoulders. His Prince was crying, begging.

“Pleazze, zzweet Gabriel. It’zz too much, angel,” they sobbed.

He held them in place and kept working at their flesh. “No, I wasn’t able to tire you out last time,” he said. “I want you exhausted.”

The demon nodded, and he felt blood rush into the flaccid flesh that he was still working. He felt his own Effort stiffen, probably by infernal miracle.

His Prince began to rock on him. That was nice, but he knew the demon could do that all night.

“How did I tire you out before?” he asked. “In the Garden?”

“The lightning helped,” they said. “But really, it wazz a matter of pride for you. You juzzt fucked me until we couldn’t anymore.”

He lit his hand, and reached down. His Prince cried out as he found their cock.

It was not a cry of pain.

The Earth circles around its axis and whirls around the sun. Those movements are precise and measured. There is an inevitability to the dawn, and to the passage of all time.

Many centuries later, when Gabriel stood in one of the first cathedrals that humans built for God, listening to a choir of boys (beautiful, damaged boys) singing for Her glory, it would remind him of his first night in the glass house.

The ring of his demon’s voice against the panes of glass, the lantern light captured and shattered by their wings, the warmth of their skin, softness of lips above and below. Was there anything ever so holy, so precious, to him?

He worshipped this demon as he had never worshipped God. He worshipped them boldly, with hands and mouth and cock. With words and kisses and caresses. He worshipped them, fearless of the consequences of a jealous God. He had them in every way that he could, demanding the demon’s assistance to keep going. Assistance that was given, again and again.

It was very nearly dawn on the little island. He was late for work. Gabriel didn’t care.

Prince Beelzebub had stopped speaking. They couldn’t even form his name anymore. Breathing seemed difficult. But they followed his orders well enough, and clenched around him regularly.

If the Prince was a glutton, surely so was Gabriel. He wanted. He needed. He lusted.

The demon gave and gave. Their skin showed evidence of his passion. Black marks, like the gold one that they left on him, speckled their slim shoulders. Bites and bruises, evidence of their time together.

Demon blood was as sweet as their seed. Though that might not be a trait of demons in general. It might just be his demon.

His demon. This demon was his.

He would burn this world to ashes if anybody ever took them away from his again.

If he remembered.

If he remembered.

They were limp, facing him, their wings giving a gentle twitch every now and then. He stroked their wings, their shoulders. They shivered as he thumbed over a bite that still wept black blood.

“Will they...” his demon asked, words light as the morning fog that settled around the glass house. “Won’t they mizz you...in Heaven?”

“I’m already late,” he said. “I wasn’t planning on coming in. The paperwork is...well, I’m ahead.”

Prince Beelzebub nodded against Gabriel’s shoulder. “She’ll zzay if She needzz uzz for anything.”

The water level began to lower in the tub. He felt his demon move. They stretched, leaning back from him, giving Gabriel a long look at the black bite that encircled a nipple. He ran his finger over it, and was rewarded with a long sigh.

His fingers whispered down their belly. “Tired?” he asked, lingering at the demon’s Effort, which twitched half-heartedly as he teased them.

“Very,” they said. “But that feelzz zzo good.”

“Could you go again?” he asked, stroking them in earnest in the rapidly emptying tub.

“Healer,” his demon moaned. “I can go...maybe forever. I don’t know. If I...keep healing myzzelf...and you already made zzure that I’m too weak to get away...not that I’m really trying...not that I ever try...to get away...angel...pleazze...more...”

Gabriel’s arm went around the small of his Prince’s back as he stroked them, feeling life return to their flesh. He gave them what they asked for.

They did say that he’d never denied them.

Prince Beelzebub bucked once in his arms, and then were still. He pulled them close. The climaxes over the last few hours had been dry. This one was, too.

Gabriel liked them like this, weak and soft and whimpering in his arms. Clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping them from being thrown off of the earth.

“Are you hungry?” they asked him. “Do you even get hungry?”

“I don’t get hungry,” Gabriel replied. “Do you?”

His demon nodded. “I don’t know if it’zz a part of being a demon, or a Prinzze, or juzzt zzomesthing zzpecial that She dreamed up for me. The otherzz like food, other demonzz. But I may be unique in needing it.”

“What happens if you don’t eat?”

“I get tired, zzick. Not zzomething I want in Hell. I’m zzafe here though. I’m zzafe with you.”

Gabriel felt the miracle travel over him. The one that dried his skin and hair, and the bathtub.

“I can zztill do zzome thingzz.”

Gabriel laid them gently against the side of the copper tub and stood up. He stepped out and gathered his Prince up, to his chest. A few bees, awake and already busy, flitted around their master.

“Good morning,” they murmured. “Thizz izz Gabriel. He izz kind. Pleazze don’t zzting him.”

“Do they understand?”

“Yezz,” said the demon. “Zzome humanzz have taken to tending them. They know that they will lozze their coloniezz if they don’t talk to them. The beezz like newzz and gozzip, and they can bring it to me.”

His Prince’s cleverness left Gabriel weak and dry-mouthed. Speaking of weakness, his Prince seemed to be growing colder outside of the bath.

“You’re getting cold,” he said. “Where do I take you?”

“Zztone houzze,” Prince Beelzebub buzzed. “I have a larder. It’zz well-zztocked. And there’s stew on the fire.”

Gabriel followed their instructions, shifting them to cradle them in his left arm and carrying them into the little stone house. The heavy oak door, carved with Prince Beelzebub’s sigil, opened at his touch.

He did not have to duck to enter, as he did with most mortal dwellings. The little house was warm, bright, and well-appointed. The ceilings were high, with beams of carved oak. He recognized some of the sigils. Others were unknown to him. At the center of the little house, where the beams crossed, he saw his own sigil, and Prince Beelzebub’s.

Half of the furniture seemed oversized for the demon.

Most of the wall space was covered in cabinets, with a few windows. The grey light of morning peeked in the panes of glass.

The house smelled like drying herbs and barley stew. Gabriel may not need to eat, but wanting and needing were very different things.

He found that he wanted to eat. What a strange feeling.

In front of one of the windows, an assortment of cut crystals on silvery chains shattered the light over a few potted plants on the windowsill.

“Did you make all of this yourself?” he asked, reaching his free arm up and touching a crystal.

“By hand,” they said. “It wazz zzomething to do, and if you make it yourzzelf, by hand, then you can weave miraclezz into it. The table, zzweet angel?”

There was a long trestle table against the wall perpendicular to the fireplace. A copper pot hung over the fire. Stew.

There were two chairs at the table. He set the demon into the smaller one, the one with their sigil carved into it.

The larger chair bore his own sigil.

“That cabinet,” said the demon, indicating the cabinet to the left of the table. Gabriel found clay mugs and bowls, and copper spoons. The bowls were large and deep. He brought two to the table. And two mugs and spoons. “The board?” the demon asked. “And a knife.”

Gabriel brought it all to the table and waited for further instructions.

“There’zz a door, metal, over the mantle. That’zz the oven. There’zz bread inside. Here’zz a thick cloth. Open the oven with that. Don’t burn yourzzelf.”

Gabriel wasn’t sure that he could burn himself. He hadn’t tried to, and given how painful it seemed to be for humans, he didn’t want to try. The thick cloth protected his hands as he opened the oven.

Inside the oven, two loaves waited. The bread smelled like herbs and honey. The bread went on the board. He grabbed the loaves out with the thick cloth. “Like this?”

“Yezz,” said his demon. “Now the zztew?”

There was a copper ladle hanging beside the fire. Gabriel filled the bowls. Carefully, and very near the top of the bowls. When he turned back to the table, his demon was gone.

“Beelzebub?” he called.

“I’m here,” they said, from a stone archway. They returned to the room carrying a basket full of things. “Zzome fruit and cheezze--have you tazzted cheezze, yet?”

“Nope. Can’t say that I have.”

“One of Crawly’zz inventionzz,” the demon said, setting out a cloth-wrapped disk. They opened it to reveal a white, waxy circle that was speckled with herbs. “Humanzz will kill each other over thizz zztuff. It’zz made from milk. It’zz Crawly’zz zzecond bezzt invention, after boozze.”

Gabriel nodded at that, setting the stew out and taking his seat. The chair was too big for his demon, but fit him perfectly.

“You built this place...for me,” he said, finally.

“I built it for uzz,” Prince Beelzebub said, cutting the bread and cheese into manageable slices. “It wazz my way of zztaying zzane. If I could imagine a time when we would be here together, when I’d have you back, then throwing myzzelf into the firezz of Hell zzeemed like a lezz appealing option.”

His hand found the sweet, soft flesh between his Prince’s wings. He stroked them there, and he heard them sniffle.

“It would have hurt, and I probably would have dizzcororpated anywayzz, not actually dezztroyed myzzelf,” they said, fiercely wiping the tears from their face. “I didn’t deal with your lozz well, my love. Zzo, if I built a plazze where we could be together, where...in my mind...I could juzzt zzay, ‘Oh, Gabriel’zz away but he’zz coming back. He’zz buzzy, but he’ll be home.’” Their whole body seemed to shrink into itself, and then they turned to him. Tears trickled down their cheeks and fell onto the wounds that he had left. “I wish that I could zzay that I never lozzt hope, but it would be more accurate to zzay that I built my hope into thizz houzze.”

“This place is beautiful,” Gabriel said, pulling his demon into his lap. Their skin was very cold. Too cold.

“After zzome food, and maybe zzome zzleep, I’ll show you the rest,” the demon said, hugging Gabriel tightly. “Azz you can zee, I cry very eazzily when I’m hungry,” his Prince said, wiggling themselves back to the floor. “In zzpite of the tearzz, I’m happy. Here, let’zz eat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm knocking on my NaNoWriMo goal! Woo!
> 
> And so here's the rest of Beelzebub and Gabriel's first night at the house that Beelzebub built for them. Bee lore is really cool. Apparently, if you don't tell your colony about the death of the head of the household, you can lose the whole colony. 
> 
> Bad things in the next chapter. Heads up.


	14. Love the Pain Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Threat of rape. No actual rape.

“After zzome food, and maybe zzome zzleep, I’ll show you the rest,” the demon said, hugging Gabriel tightly. “Azz you can zee, I cry very eazzily when I’m hungry,” his Prince said, wiggling themselves back to the floor. “In zzpite of the tearzz, I’m happy. Here, let’zz eat.”

They pulled a clay carafe of milk from the basket and filled the mugs. The mark on the mugs, the sigil that he saw most everywhere in this house, looked like an amalgamation of his sigil and Prince Beelzebub’s. There were a few other flourishes, which his memory whispered to him belonged to Remiel.

The Prince took their seat beside him, and brought their lips down to the stew. In the light of the morning, he could see how wan they looked. He’d seen that look before, in humans who had missed too many meals. God must’ve changed their body. Made them require material sustenance.

If not require it, to be more comfortable with it. He picked up his spoon and tried the soup. It was savory and rich, warming him all the way down to his toes.

“What kind of soup is this?” he asked.

“Goat and leek and barley,” said his Prince, who had drained their bowl enough to use the spoon. “It’zz one of my favoritezz.”

They picked up a melon and it fell into cubes, through infernal miracle. They held a cube out to him.

“It’zz good with thizz,” they said.

Gabriel took the melon from his demon’s fingers. The melon broke sweet and light over his tongue, and the strawberries that followed were tart and cool.

“That’s amazing,” Gabriel said. In the back of his mind, though, he thought he was being wasteful. His Prince surely needed their supplies. He didn’t need to eat.

Yet, having a full stomach for the first time ever...

God may not have ever required him to eat, but She had also never forbidden it. And the sensual pleasure of it, of feeling his flesh fill up, of feeling his body begin the process of digestion. The tastes of everything.

Eating fruit from his demon’s fingers, licking and teasing the salt and sweet from them.

Cheese was a decadence that he could easily imagine humans clubbing each other to death for. His Prince’s cheese was crusted with herbs. Some he recognized, some he did not.

Still, Gabriel didn’t REQUIRE food, though his Prince clearly did. “Should I be eating your food?” he asked. “I mean, I don’t need it...and you do...”

“You have to look after your corporation. No, you don’t have to eat. I don’t HAVE to eat. I just get zzick if I don’t. It won’t kill me.” Prince Beelzebub paused. “I’ve tried.”

“Why?” Gabriel asked.

“For zzienzze, tezzting myzzelf,” Prince Beelzebub laughed. They stretched their wings. Light shattered and the room filled with rainbows. “Oh, and I’d get involved in making thingzz, and juzzt forget. It wazz worzze when I wazz working in Mezzopotamia. Zzo much to do...”

“You moved here after the Flood?”

“Well, She wazzn’t mad with thezze humanzz.”

“True.”

Prince Beelzebub sighed. “I get lozzt in my work. Hunger zztopzz meaning anything. Alazz, work izz a thing that can become an indulgenzze. Anything is gluttony, I zzuppozze.” His demon shrugged, and the rainbows moved with their shoulders. “I zztayed in that tub for way too long. Oh, but you were my firzzt indulgenzze. And my favorite. Alwayzz my favorite.”

His demon’s words filled him with the warmth of the sunshine in their wings, with the warmth of the soup in his belly. He smiled, happy to be here, away from Heaven and his celestial siblings.

Happy to be in a small, warm stone house, eating stew and bread and cheese. Happy to be quietly sharing the same air as his demon. His clever demon. His brilliant Prince.

Gabriel had an unfortunately well-developped sense of pragmatism. That sense of pragmatism reminded him that he (quite literally, in this case) brought nothing to the table. His Prince built a house, stocked it with furniture that they built, with food that they grew, with all manner of household necessities. And he, the Archangel Gabriel, offered only himself.

He couldn’t make anything but storms.

At what point did devotion become madness? Is this what happened to his Prince? Who, in Hell, could have probably had any demon that they chose, but clung to a memory? A phantom of a person that Gabriel could not remember being? Is this why his Prince chose a life of loneliness, with the ghost of a lover as their only comfort?

He suddenly felt very insecure, but that did not seem to affect his appetite. He emptied the bowl and the mug, and ate his share of the fruit, bread, and cheese.

His Prince laid back from the table, looking swollen, but replete. They waved a lazy hand and an infernal miracle cleaned the dishes and returned them to their cabinet. A further miracle removed a smear of soup from Gabriel’s chest, where it had fallen, unnoticed by the angel.

“Corner cabinet,” they said. “Open it. There’zz a metal bar. Pull gently, and it should do the rezzt.”

Gabriel stood up and crossed the room to the indicated cabinet. It was the largest in the house. It was carved with the phases of the moon, and all manner of plants and insects. The nocturnal ones, he realized. He opened the cabinet and gave the bar a pull. There was a mechanical, whirring sound. Gabriel stepped back as a bed began to unfold out of the cabinet.

“Zzometimezz, I need the extra zzpace,” Prince Beelzebub explained, looping an easy arm around his waist. “This zzeemed like a good zzolution.”

“A Murphy bed,” he said, not knowing where that word or concept came from. “Yes...”

“That’zz what the humanzz will call it, zzomeday. Zzo zzaid Adam. He had all of the wordzz.” The demon crawled onto the bed and looked over their shoulder, meeting Gabriel’s eyes. “Come to bed, zzweet angel.”

His Effort, in spite of all previous activity, gave a hard twitch. Gabriel joined them on the bed, his knees sinking into the down mattress. He crawled after them, grabbed them by the hips as they were arraying pillows.

“Again?” they asked over their shoulder, eyes wide.

But the demon did not pull away, did not struggle. He reached for the sweet flesh between their wings, and pressed them down into the pillows. They bowed easily, and spread their knees for him. They were already growing hard, either from infernal miracle or from some new need surfacing in them.

Gabriel drove into them, pleased to find them wet and receptive. The pillows muffled their cries, which turned quickly into prayers.

The angel and the demon did not collapse into the pillows and into slumber until the sun crossed the meridian.

Gabriel woke with the dawn. It felt right. Better than being in Heaven, where there never was, properly speaking, a dawn. The office moved, so it was always sunny there.

He sat up, feeling for his Prince. The bed was empty and cold. But if it was dawn, then he’d been asleep...for too long. Way too long.

He could see his robes, clean and hung from a hook. Out the window, he heard the gentle cluck of chickens, heard someone approaching. Beyond the splash of prismatic rainbows, he saw a small, dark form hurrying to the house.

The door opened, and Prince Beelzebub entered in leathers and linens, carrying a basket of produce. They set the basket down on a chest of drawers beside the door, pulled their boots off, and went to the bed.

“My love,” they began. Their voice was nervous, and their eyes were wide. When they settled themselves on the bed and reached for him, they were trembling. “I zzet an alarm to go off when you woke. I came back azz zzoon azz I could.”

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked.

The demon kissed him, open-mouthed. He felt a packet fall into his hands. It must’ve been on the table beside the bed. His Prince had laid it in his hands.

It was a satchel, leather and celestial. It was a delivery satchel from Heaven.

When he reached inside, a scrap of parchment leapt into his hand. He pulled it out and read it.

“Your paperwork will not wait. Finish it, and return it to Heaven. There will be more waiting for you. No slacking, unless you want me to start breaking your toy.

“I do expect that you keep up appearances in Heaven. If the others figure out what you’re up to, and decide to take matters into their own hands, I will not stop them.

“Further, if I need you for some matter, I expect that you will not dawdle.

“Behave yourself, or there will be consequences. Understand this--there are places worse than Hell, and this time, I’ll make you watch.”

It did not need to be signed, yet it was.

“Elohim, God of the Hebrews.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” he asked.

“Luzzifer zzaid that I didn’t need to,” they said, softly. They twisted the sheets in their nervous hands. “He gave me the zzatchel.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I’ll zzurvive.”

“What did he do?”

“Azz he pleazzed,” Prince Beelzebub said, with a shrug. They winced at some unseen pain. “Nothing I can’t heal, but he wanted you to zzee.”

“So you just went and did farm chores while injured?”

“Goatzz wait for no man,” Prince Beelzebub said softly.

“I could have done that for you.”

“I wazz inzztructed to let you zzleep,” the demon said. “Zzpezzifically, I wazz told that if I woke you, you would be harmed. He wazz zzpezzific. He said he’d harm you, not hurt you.”

“Let me get this straight. He beat you where I could have heard...and made you stay silent?”

“Right outzzide. Taunted me. Told me to cry out for you, zzee what would happen,” Prince Beelzebub smiled darkly. “He didn’t break me.”

“Show me.”

They opened their shirt and let it drop off of their shoulders. Bruises bloomed over their pale skin. Lucifer had delivered a fierce attack on the center of their small back. A handprint bruise, too delicate to have come from Gabriel, encircled one thin bicep.

None of Gabriel’s own bites remained.

Their pants slipped down. Their cock was swollen and purple.

“What did he do here?”

“He had me down, was laughing at me. He grabbed me up by the hair and whizzpered to me, ‘I should fuck you, maybe then you’d zzcream.’”

“He did?” Gabriel felt the rage build up inside him. Oh, he wanted to kill.

“I pulled myzzelf up on hands and kneezz. I zzpread my legzz for him, told him to do it if he wazz going to, but I wazzn’t going to zzcream.” The demon paused. “He kicked me. Then he zztomped me. Right on the cock.”

Gabriel did not know what to say. His Prince’s words returned to him, “She hates our love as much as she hates me.” Prince Beelzebub was hurt in order to hurt him.

It was working.

His Prince sighed. “There’zz more.”

Prince Beelzebub drew their wings out from the second realm. Their tears fell silently down their cheeks as the ragged remnants caught the light, and fractured it into rainbows darkened by the blackish hemolymph that streaked the delicate membranes.

Their jaw set, and the tears vanished. “He wanted you to zzee,” they said. “You’ve zzeen.”

The wings began to mend themselves. A thick crunch announced their broken ribs arranging themselves, setting themselves. They clenched their jaw with the pain, but didn’t say anything as the bruises began to fade.

Defiance flashed in their pale eyes as their mouth fell on his. They shoved him back into the pillows and straddled him as their wings stretched, reformed and lovely, splashing color over the dark walls. Over the ceiling. Over their fair skin and his own.

His Prince straddled him, miracling the rest of their clothes away.

“He forzzed me to heal your markzz, my love. Make me zzome new onezz. Make me forget,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Make me forget him.”

Gabriel reached for his demon, to touch them, to soothe them, to give them everything that they needed from him. To take away a hurt, and replace it with something quicker. Something dearer.

Rain began to patter the roof as his demon began to shower the skin of his neck and chest with kisses. One of the Prince’s slim, cool hands wandered above his Effort and a tightness that he had not noticed left him.

“What was that?” he asked.

“You juzzt watered my lemonzz,” Prince Beelzebub said. “If you eat and drink, there are conzzequenzzes.”

Gabriel chuckled, grabbed his demon and rolled them. He settled himself over them, between their legs. Above him, the rain started to hammer, and below him, his demon spread for him like a flower blooming.

He hurtled the white leather satchel away from himself and got to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't edit this chapter as thoroughly as the others. If you see something, say something.


	15. Fourteen Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel gets a mysterious assignment from God after fourteen years of domestic peace in Florida.

Prince Beelzebub’s Garden, Florida Keys, Dry Season, 2936 BCE

* * *

Fourteen years, they’d had. Fourteen years of domestic peace. Gabriel went to work in Heaven, as he was supposed to. Arriving very punctually at the new hours that he had set for himself. Returning home as soon as he was able to get away.

He saw little and less of the other angels. Outside of meetings, they were all busy. The humans were expanding. Spreading. They needed guidance.

Well, except for the humans outside of Mesopotamia. For some reason, God left the Native Americans and the Chinese alone.

He started work at the same time every day, and ended work roughly eight hours later. That gave him sixteen hours in which to live.

Which is what he did. Thankfully, his demon had spent their years on the planet seeing and doing and learning. They’d shown him all of the beautiful places. Caves and lakes and the broadleaf forests of North America. The great mountain ridges and the piney woods. Rivers and seas, and glorious violet sunrises over white sand, over rolling green hills, over the wide and empty deserts.

They toured the great cities of men, unseen. Prince Beelzebub had learned how to pull themselves into the second realm, the wing realm. Gabriel knew the same trick, and both of them walked amongst men, seeing all of their innovation. All of the brilliance of the children of Seth.

Sometimes, Prince Beelzebub would step out in order to ask some mortal a question about their craft, or to buy from them. The humans liked the demon. They were kind to them, and generous.

They showered charity on the humans that they met, many of whom still clung to the thunder god and his bride. The Bride of Death existed in many of the pagan gods, and their likeness to Prince Beelzebub was comforting.

The Bride had many names now, and many stories and songs. They all delighted Gabriel.

He had found a kinder God in his demon, better than the one that made him. Gabriel worshipped as often as possible.

Prince Beelzebub had taught Gabriel many of the skills that they had learned over the years. He had a gift with metal, and had forged a spear of his own. It was, functionally, a duplicate of the one that God had given him.

He remembered how pleased he had been with the gift of the spear. It was perfect for him, balanced precisely, right length, right girth of the haft. The weapon felt _right_ in his hands.

That memory turned to ashes in his mouth these days. Of course, the spear had been perfect. Very likely, he had made it for himself--some other time, some other place. And God, whoever that was, had copied his work.

And gave it to him as a gift.

Gabriel kept in martial practice. Prince Beelzebub fought with knives. Small, sharp, silver knives. The demon was quick, agile, and precise. Which, Gabriel had discovered, made them deadly hard to beat.

In fact, he had to corner them in order to have even a chance at besting them. Breathless, pressed against a wall or a tree, with his spear crossed over their body, whispering their surrender--he liked them like that.

Though he also liked it when they sent him sprawling, held him down easily as a ragdoll, and covered his skin in bites and marks before riding him into the dirt.

Fighting and fucking were cousins. The lust for one led easily to another.

And then, Prince Beelzebub had taught him dance. Dance was, Gabriel decided, where fighting and fucking kissed. He liked it, and was getting better at it.

Strangely, dance practice had improved both his fighting and his fucking.

Prince Beelzebub, it turned out, worked almost entirely from home. Stack of paperwork in reed baskets that they had woven themself, sent by Dagon through a miraculous system which linked a basket in Hell to the basket in Florida.

Once a month, they did journey into Hell to receive a report from Iblis. Crawly. Their friend. He usually sent food that he’d discovered, and his plans for or progress on some large-scale grinding misery that made souls riper for harvest.

Crawly was uniquely attuned, it seemed, to what caused the most humans the most rage and the most misery.

He remembered a conversation that he had with his Prince, in the early days. When he’d finally gotten up the courage to ask about Crawly.

They were in the glass house, after he’d toured the whole island. That had taken three days, seeing everything. It probably would have taken less time, but he had work. Besides work, every new place that Prince Beelzebub brought him to was an invitation to frolic.

He never denied them anything. And they never denied him anything, either.

Back in the glass house, in the early evening when the fireflies winked around the shrubbery (“I made thezze for you,” his Prince had said, holding one up for his inspection. “Some humanzz call them firefliezz, zzome call them lightning bugzz. They are yourzz, my love.”) He loved this time in the garden, the early evening. Everything smelled so strongly, the smell that he always associated with his Prince, the green smell of the garden.

They were in the wide central aisle of the glass house. Prince Beelzebub stood behind him with a basket that held a jar of powder and a couple of brushes in it.

“Wingzz, angel?” Prince Beelzebub asked him.

He obliged them, pulling his wings into the proper plane with a thought and a rustle. Their hands went to the feathers, raking through them with a practiced gentleness.

His wings were not as physical as the rest of him. Very little could hurt them, and he did not molt, like other feathered creatures. Still, he’d been flying that day, carrying the demon along with him. They’d wanted to show him the island from above, expanding like a great, green canvas before them.

Afterwards, Prince Beelzebub insisted on grooming, and Gabriel wasn’t going to refuse an opportunity for the demon to touch him.

He could not remember a time when his wings had been groomed by hand, but this was nice. Prince Beelzebub was very, very good at wing grooming.

“You’ve done this before,” Gabriel said.

“Zzo have you,” his Prince replied. “You juzzt forgot.”

He wondered what Remiel’s wings had felt like, slick feathers sliding through his fingers. He could not remember. The little things that he could remember--Remiel naming the plants for him, for example--he didn’t like thinking on them. The memories were wrong with so many unfamiliar faces. It felt like swallowing stones. Hard, cold, rough, uncomfortable.

He’d preferred to make new memories. Better than trying to sort through the chaos that God left. The wreckage.

He felt them working the powder into his wings. A cleanser, to remove excess oils. They worked quickly, rubbing the powder deep into his feathers.

A soft brush took most of the powder off. It fell to the ground, where an infernal miracle collected it back into its jar, sans the oil and dirt that it was used to loosen. Prince Beelzebub shook more of the powder out by hand. Then used an infernal miracle to get everything else.

The demon had another tool, a stiff-bristled brush, which preened Gabriel’s wings as well as any miracle. Better, if he counted the way that it felt. Gentle scratching when the Prince used short, quick strokes. A shivery feeling from the top of his head all the way down to his toes when they used the same long, smooth strokes that they used with his hair.

They were meticulous, combing through all six of Gabriel’s wings. He smelled faintly of lavender and mint when they were done with him.

Afterwards, there had been food. Kebabs of meat and vegetables, cooked over a small fire in the glass house. Starchy root vegetables that had been baked and covered in cheese and herbs. Fruit plucked from the tree, cut and grilled.

There was a lull in conversation. He wanted to know more about their life after their Fall, so he decided to ask. To continue a conversation that had been derailed in the Tower of Babel.

“In Babylon,” he began. “You wanted to tell me something about your...friend? The snake?”

“Crawly,” they said, warmly.

“You said that he managed to get a message to you...how?”

“It wazz after the Flood. I wazz at my dezzk in Hell, longer than I’d ever been there. I wazz a wreck. I rot down there.”

“You rot?”

“I break into boilzz. It’zz mizzerable.”

“Is that just you? Or does everyone rot?”

“Nobody rotzz like I do. Their clothezz--anything they bring from topzzide--will rot, but mozzt of them maintain their corporationzz fairly well.” The Prince shook their head. “God’zz punishment for me wazz zzpezzial. She’zz good at mizzery.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said softly.

“I wazz in a lot of pain, dripping puzz and blood everywhere. My fliezz liked it well enough, zzo there’zz that,” they said. “A new fly showed up, a mozzquito, one of the long dizztanzze flierzz. She had a mezzage for me.”

“What was the message?”

“Crawly told me that he lovezz me, and never to give up.”

“That’s all?”

“It wazz the way that he zzaid what he zzaid,” Prince Beelzebub recalled, voice full of tenderness. “If you could have heard what Crawly zzaid...how he zzaid it...he zzpeaks to me like a zzibling. He wazz on the other side of Earth, yet--my mozzquito found him, and then found me.”

Gabriel felt so helpless then, knowing that his demon had been suffering and he could do nothing to save them.

“It wazz worth what came after,” they said, darkly.

“What happened after?”

“I didn’t want you crozz with Crawly...I lied to you.”

He knew from his memories that Crawly (Iblis) was not a romantic rival. Still, he remained very possessive of his demon. Whether he liked it or not (whether he cared to admit it or not), his pragmatism reminded him that this shining creature (this one joy in his otherwise bleak existence) could attract the attentions of someone more worthy.

Shadows of every demon in Hell and half the angels in Heaven danced with his demon in the darker corners of his mind.

Gabriel took one of their hands in his own and gave them a gentle smile. He did not like being lied to, but he had the distinct feeling that if he handled this in any way that was not supportive, he’d hurt Prince Beelzebub worse.

“What did you lie to me about?” he asked, trying to keep his tone level. He did not quite succeed.

Prince Beelzebub took a breath. “Luzzifer shattered my wings over that mozzquito...over Crawly’s mezzage. Not juzzt becauzze he wazz angry, and I wazz convenient.”

Gabriel rolled this over in his mind. “You thought I’d be mad at Crawly.”

“No, I _knew_ you’d be mad at Crawly. But it’zz happened to you now,” they said. “I think you might have gained zzome empathy for Crawly’s pozzition.”

He thought of his Prince, beaten and weak at Lucifer’s feet. Dragging themself up on hands and knees, looking God Almighty in the face and calling Her bluff. His brave demon, purchasing Gabriel’s safety with their stubborn silence. With their defiance.

His Prince stared at their hand and his, fingers entwined. A tear fell on his skin. “I made a mezzage to zzend back. With a different fly. Luzzifer forzzed the fly to watch what he did to me, to take in hizz own mezzage for Crawly. Zzaid he wazz dizziplining me for abuzzing Hell’zz rezzourzzes to zzend love notezz to a zzubordinate.”

“Lucifer...God...hurts you to hurt Crawly...and to hurt me.”

“It’zz effective, izzn’t it?” the demon said, stroking Gabriel’s hand with their free hand. “You both love me zzo much. Crawly hazz never zzent another message. And you show up to Heaven every morning, to do Her bidding. And me?” His Prince met his eyes, and there was steel in their gaze. “She could have rended me in twain with the mozzt mazzive Effort Luzzifer could wield, and I would not have made a zzound.”

His brave (and frighteningly stubborn) little demon Prince. Oh, how he loved them.

Fourteen years of dancing and farming and touring and peace. Better than most mortals can hope for. He should be grateful.

But Gabriel found his gratitude in short supply, as he packed his satchel with the things that he might need. As Prince Beelzebub buzzed a version of “Come Taste my Cold, Dead Lips” to themselves and handed him the things that he might need.

God needed him for some sort of earthly errand. Gabriel was not looking forward to seeing Her, nor serving Her in a fashion that was more direct than the punctual delivery of paperwork.

The orders had arrived the day prior. At the bottom of his day’s paperwork. Coordinates, and a time. Signed by the Metatron.

Gabriel and his Prince had taken to working in a companionable silence at the trestle table, whenever his work overspilled his usual hours in Heaven. Working from home entirely (as Prince Beelzebub did) would be preferable to Gabriel, but he felt that he would be missed if he stopped coming into the office.

He wasn’t supposed to have a home outside of Heaven. He didn’t want the other angels to know that he did.

When Gabriel did have work to bring home, his Prince was often mired in the same assignment. Right now, it was that the humans had discovered property ownership, and Lilith’s daughters went a bit crazy with it. The angels were trying to get the humans to restrict property ownership to men, with mixed success.

Sandalphon had gotten himself discorporated by one of Semiramis’ daughters for attempting to speak to Semiramis on the subject. (Speaking not being one of Sandalphon’s strong suits. Probably, he threatened Semiramis, and one of her daughters found a soft place for her knife.)

The paperwork for the recorporation of an Archangel was, frankly, murderous. And it’s not like a discorporated Sandalphon could fill anything out. So, Gabriel was finishing things up for him. A few hours of paperwork was infinitely preferable to a discorporated Archangel moping around the halls of Heaven.

Whenever they worked at the trestle table, Prince Beelzebub kept it stocked with bread and cheeses, a bowl that miraculously kept the fruit in it chilled, and flowers.

There were always flowers, fresh cut. Crocuses, irises, and daffodils in the rainy season. Mums and poppies in the dry season. And roses and lavender, almost always.

His Prince was able to speed his work along with with infernal miracles. One after another, copying paperwork intriplicate, refreshing his ink, his coffee (which he had discovered that he liked a great deal.) Little things that he couldn’t do for himself, as Heaven was always stingy with their miracles. Gabriel was more efficient with the assistance of the Lord of Flies.

They gave and gave and gave. Gabriel took. At first, he had nothing to give back but himself, and he hated that. It got easier as he learned how to do more around the Prince’s farm. He much preferred to be an equal partner.

So, he had been working beside them, putting the final signature on Sandalphon’s recorporation paperwork and watching Prince Beelzebub copy everything to another parchment. He took a cube of melon from his demon’s fingers, making little promises to them in the way that he teased their fingers with his lips and tongue.

They flushed, and he could smell their arousal. Finishing work had that effect on them both. A small hand slipped beneath the waistband of his linen pants and found the flesh that was swelling there. Their head rested again his shoulder.

“Tell me that’zz the lazzt of it,” the demon said.

“Should be. Let me check,” Gabriel replied, though he was fairly certain it was. He fished around in his bag as the demon stroked him. “You’re making this difficult, you know?”

“I’m trying to make it hard, zzweet angel.”

“Yeah, you’re doing that...There’s something else in here. Hang on.”

Prince Beelzebub pulled their hand away from him and sat back, generously allowing him to read.

“Fuck. An Earth assignment...it’s been a while,” he said. “I used to _live_ for these. When I thought I’d see you.”

“Me too. It’zz different now.” Prince Beelzebub read the parchment. “That’zz in Nimrod’zz kingdom.”

“Noted.” Gabriel stuffed the assignment back into his bag.

“It’zz only expected to lazzt a couple of hourzz,” Prince Beelzebub said, with a shrug. “Let’zz not think about it. We’ve got...ten hourzz,” the demon said. Their hand slipped back under Gabriel’s waistband. “We shouldn’t wazzte it.”

They did not. A storm broke over their little island as they took their pleasure with each other. The motion of his Prince inside him became more staggered, more syncopated. Their wings flared with a great flash of lightning as they climaxed. He followed, their skillful hand around his cock.

They laid themselves across his chest and he wrapped his arms around them, listening to the storm. The rain was a comfort, and lightning seemed to make a cage to protect them.

Many, many years in the future, a poet in the Florida Keys would articulate Gabriel’s thoughts on the way that the lightning fell over them in a poem. A few sweet words about her own quiet hours with a lover.

“Do you think that She’s going to be there?” he asked in the dark.

“Probably in King Nimrod...how are you zztill thinking?”

“Can’t help it.”

“You’re not tired enough,” the demon said, with a wicked edge to their words. He felt their lips on his neck, moving lower.

The storm blew itself out and the grey shimmer of dawn rose over them before his Prince released him. The fucking had been nice, but his mind had given him no rest. His worries were never forgotten for more than the few heartbeats that it took him to recover from his climaxes.

A few infernal miracles cleaned them both, and Prince Beelzebub had, after a lingering kiss, risen to dress and get breakfast. They hadn’t said anything. There was nothing to say.

So Gabriel rose, threw on his robe, and stepped out to the glass house to water the lemons.

He returned, and Prince Beelzebub was already eating. He sat beside them, noting that they had not retrieved anything from the larder for him.

“Bezzt not to eat,” they said. “I’m going to have to purge it all out.”

“Purge?”

“In cazze your azzignment lazztzz longer than a few hourzz. You’re not leaving thizz houzze with anything in your zzyzztem, and I zztill have to take your Effort. Are you zzuppozzed to go into the offizze today?”

“The letter didn’t say that I’m not, so...” He defiantly stole a grape from his demon’s plate and popped it into his mouth, making eye contact as he did so. “I’m probably going to have a mountain of paperwork over this. I think God’s mad about what Semiramis’ daughter did to Sandalphon.”

The demon leaned over and kissed him. Their mouth tasted of fruit and milk and sweet honeyed bread.

“Don’t think, zzweet angel. God doezzn’t like it when you do.”

Gabriel sighed.

“Anywayzz, ZZemiramizz is not in the palazze anymore, remember?”

Oh. That was right. Semiramis had taken her daughters and fled to Egypt. That’s where Sandalphon had been discorporated.

He felt their hands slip into his robes. They miraculously evacuated his bowels and bladder of everything, probably to the compost heap. Then, their hands smoothed over the Effort that they made for him every evening and removed every morning.

Their hands lingered there, as they always did, stroking him gently with fingernails. The action managed to soothe and excite him at the same time. It was a farewell and a promise. That they’d restore his Effort when he came home.

By extension, it was a promise that he would come home. That God wouldn’t keep him. He kissed the crown of his Prince’s head, inhaling the sweet smell of them.

They turned to look up at him, their blue eyes weary. He leaned down, kissed them on the lips, opening their mouth with his. Their own robe opened for him when he reached for them.

“I don’t know what you’re planning, but we don’t have time...”

“Please,” he asked, shoving their plate and cup away and lifting them onto the trestle table. He knelt in front of them, spreading their knees. “Please, let me.”

They stroked his head, and nodded, parting their robe for him. Gabriel took them in his mouth, and they leaned back. He heard a shuddering sigh over him, and smiled around his demon’s cock.

He felt a leg loop around his back, encouraging him as he worshipped the only God that he would ever willingly serve. He heard them begin their prayers. His name rang out to the rafters.

Their climax came quickly, and he swallowed them. Gently, teasingly, he cleaned them, then rose to his feet, pulling them into his arms. There were tears in their eyes, and they buried their face in his chest. His hands slipped through their hair, as they clung to his robe.

“Wait,” they said softly, wet eyes up, finding his own. “Did you zzwallow?”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing.

His demon frowned, and he felt their seed leave him. “Zzorry, love. You can’t even keep that.”

“That’s...fine...” he said.

“You have to get ready. Let me help.”

Gabriel did, and half an hour later, he was riding his lightning to Mesopotamia. To Babylon. To a mysterious assignment, under the blaze of the late afternoon desert sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem that Gabriel is referencing is [It Is Marvellous](https://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php%3Fdate=2013%252F10%252F07.html) by [Elizabeth Bishop](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Bishop). 
> 
> This poem was not found for many years after Ms. Bishop's death. Right before she died, she burned TRUNKS of her poetry. She burned most of what she wrote in Florida for her lover, Lota de Macedo Soares. This poem was written for Soares, and it's my favorite of hers.
> 
> It somehow escaped the fires. You might call that a miracle.


	16. The Miracle of Abram

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abram faces the army of King Nimrod. He has an angel and a demon to assist him.
> 
> I rewrote the last chapter before publishing this one, so you're going to need to reread it if you haven't. Thanks!

The boy, standing ankle-deep in the sand, seemed to shiver under the blazing sun. He was poor. This was evident in his roughspun robes, the same color as the sand. The robes were too short, showing too much of his skinny legs. His hair fell in glossy black curls. His almond-shaped eyes were brown. They fairly glowed in the sun, but they were wet with the fear that roiled off of him.

This skinny boy of thirteen years, the shadow of a mustache catching the sunlight on his upper lip, was supposed to be the great father of all of the Hebrew nation. Others as well.

Now, he was a frail and frightened child trying not to cry.

Gabriel stood behind Abram, his satchel by his feet, waiting to play his part in this show. Meanwhile, he was watching what Abram was watching. King Nimrod’s army assembled in front of the boy. The king’s personal guard, a whole legion of them, had been sent to destroy the child.

“God,” the child muttered. “Oh, God, help me.”

Gabriel wanted to say something, to give some comfort to the child trying very hard to be brave. Gabriel wanted to be seen. But now was not the time. He waited for the right moment in the wing realm.

He had his orders. They’d smashed into the back of his head almost as soon as his feet hit the sand flat outside of Nun-ki. There was to be a battle, and the boy was to be triumphant.

Afterwards, Gabriel was to reveal himself in his full glory, wings out, splendid raiments. A show of God’s might and splendor.

Right now, he was watching armed and armored men, marching into formation. The sun gleamed on their breastplates, on the tips of their spears. And behind them, on the city walls, King Nimrod waited. Sitting on a hastily erected dais, with one of his generals. Laughing, eating grapes and melons from a clay bowl as the teenager in the sand sweat and waited.

The last man found his position. And the boy quaked.

“So, Abram,” said King Nimrod, Elohim’s voice in his throat. “Now what shall you do, eh? Where is your mighty God now?”

“God protects me,” Abram said, somberly. But his voice cracked. “God will send me aid.”

The boy fell to his knees, and began to pray. His tears fell heavy as summer rain.

The king and his army laughed.

“Let him have his final prayers,” King Nimrod said, drinking wine from a guilded ram’s horn.

Gabriel waited, watching the back of the slim, hungry boy. The way that the knobby bones in the back of his neck cast shadows across his skin. He looked so small. He was so small.

The angel took a deep breath. He smelled something green. The demon’s garden still clung to him. He breathed it in, closing his eyes against the sun and the scene in front of him.

It was a comfort. That sweet scent. The smell of his demon.

A small hand slipped into his. He looked down, and saw his Prince, garbed in black linens that floated, diaphanous, on the desert breeze. Their wings twitched behind them, glorious in the desert sun. The light shattered into rainbows across the membrane and the fabric underneath. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“My orderzz came juzzt after you zztepped out.”

Gabriel startled. His mouth went sand dry, and he asked, “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” they said, flatly. “I’m zzuppozzed to call a zzwarm, and then go home.”

Their eyes widened and their wouth grew very small. The Prince dropped Gabriel’s hand suddenly. He followed his demon’s gaze, and he saw King Nimrod glaring at them. His demon lowered their eyes and bowed their head in deference. In apology.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as King Nimrod smirked at them.

“Zzave your defianzze,” Prince Beelzebub said softly. “He didn’t touch me. Yet. Your petulanzze won’t help uzz.”

Prince Beelzebub knelt behind the boy, whose fear came off of him in acrid, metallic waves. One of the Prince’s slim hands fell on the back of the boy’s neck. He looked over at the demon, who he could see, though none of the soldiers could.

“Be not afraid, Abram,” said Prince Beelzebub. “God izz with you. Behold Hizz zzervantzz.”

Abram stared at the creature who touched his neck, and at their companion.

“They do not zzee uzz, but we are with you. You are zztrong with God, and you do not die thizz day.”

Prince Beelzebub kissed the boy on the forehead, and Gabriel could feel the warm wonder and trust that replaced the icy fear in his heart. His mind calmed. He smiled at the demon.

“Thank you, angel,” he said.

“Finish your prayerzz. They make God glad,” Prince Beelzebub replied.

Abram nodded, and resumed his prayers.

The other humans had not seen his Prince. The demon resumed their position by Gabriel’s side.

“It’zz a shame it’zz zzo bright. We could make him glow at dusk. That would be dramatic.”

“Were you supposed to do that?” Gabriel asked.

“I wazzn’t ordered to, no,” Prince Beelzebub admitted. “But he wazz zzo afraid. I couldn’t do nothing. Anywayzz, God izz right there--in poor King Nimrod. If She had a problem, She would’ve zzaid zzomething.”

“Please...” Gabriel said. “I have to go to the office after this and you’re going home. Please...I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“If She wantzz to hurt me, zzweet angel, She’ll do it. No matter where you are.”

Gabriel shuddered. Rage rose up like bile in the back of his throat. He felt small, sure hands stroking the primaries of his middle wing. From this distance, and with the breeze teasing the fabric of both of their robes, King Nimrod wouldn’t see. The touch calmed Gabriel, though he suspected that his able little healer used a small infernal miracle to help ease his mind and heart.

Abram had finished his prayers and stood up. He squared his narrow shoulders, his head held high. He didn’t have a dagger or a sling, against 2,000 armed men. He had his belief, and that was strong.

His faith radiated off of him. He was not afraid.

“Enough, Abram,” said King Nimrod. “One last chance, accept our Gods. Worship with us, and you shall be welcomed home.”

“I worship the one true God,” Abram said, softly. His gentle conviction would be charming, if it wasn’t so misplaced. “God will save me.”

“What will your God do against my men? I don’t see your God anywhere.”

“God is always with me, and God is not afraid of you,” Abram returned.

“As you say, boy,” King Nimrod laughed. A servant refilled his horn. “Kill him.”

The soldiers advanced.

“Zztop the wind,” Prince Beelzebub said. Commanded.

Gabriel did it.

A black cloud of biting flies and gnats flew past Gabriel and Prince Beelzebub, to crash into the army like a living tide.

Honestly, Gabriel found that it looked worse from this angle than it did when he was in the middle of the swarm. The shouts and screams of the terrified soldiers slowly weakened to moans and sighs. The insects were relentless, clouding each man and drinking deep from every exposed bit of skin. The soldiers collapsed under the weight of their armor and weapons. Not dead, but close.

Gabriel leapt into the air, spreading his wings, but using a miracle to keep himself aloft.

It was time. The words that he was supposed to say tingled in his brain, itching to escape into the world.

“Behold,” he bellowed, “Leave Abram in peace! He is much favored, and any who harms him shall be cursed by the mighty God of the Hebrews.”

There was a great blaze of light, and then Gabriel vanished from mortal eyes, back into the second realm.

King Nimrod feined disbelief. “How could this be?” he cried out.

“My God is mighty,” Abram said. “He is no graven statue. He is the wind you breathe. You cannot fight Him with men and weapons. Someday, the whole world will bow before Him.”

“The world may, but I will not,” King Nimrod said. “You may leave this land, Abram. And you shall be unmolested. No more shall I torment the Hebrews.”

“As you say, King Nimrod.”

Abram walked back to the city gates on shaking legs. Gabriel watched him go. He felt his Prince give his hand a soft, quick squeeze.

“Zzee you at home,” they said softly. “I muzzt go, my love.”

Gabriel squeezed their hand as they dissolved into their insects and flew away.

Just before he called the lightning that would take him back to Heaven, he saw King Nimrod’s expression change from being very pleased with himself to being very confused. A servant helped him out of his chair, and Gabriel saw how drawn and thin the king looked.

Being infested by God appeared to be very bad for one’s health.

In Heaven, the paperwork turned out to be less exhausting than Gabriel had anticipated. He finished it at his desk. A short summary of what happened, who was there, and the usual expense report (no currency, one minor miracle to stop the wind for Prince Beelzebub, one miracle of middling strength to impress the humans). He was able to turn it in with his final report for Sandalphon’s recorporation.

Sandalphon was moping near Metatron’s office.

“Hey, Gabriel,” he called out, cheerfully. “Is that it?”

Meaning, his recorporation paperwork.

“Oh, yeah. All the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed.”

“Heard you went down to Earth today...more on the property project?”

“Nope,” Gabriel said. “Just a quick show for the humans. God’s glory and all. For Abram.”

“Abram! God’s chosen. What an honor!”

Sandalphon’s tone was so earnest. Gabriel was like that once. Secure in his belief. In the love of God.

“I’ve just got to turn it in,” Gabriel said. “I’m sure you’ll be recorporated soon.”

“Hope so,” Sandalphon said, with a radiant smile. “Hope God lets me smite that awful bitch off the planet. But I’m not a lucky guy like you. You get all the best assignments. Maybe you’ll get to do the smiting, huh?”

“Eh, maybe?” Gabriel was not enthusiastic about being the cause of a war between the angels and the daughters of Lilith. “I’m kind of busy with the property thing.”

“Well, a good smiting would sort that out nicely. Wouldn’t it?”

“Or make it worse. Who knows?” Gabriel shrugged. “Humans are hard to predict. I’ve got a load of work waiting for me in my office, Sandalphon. Hope you get your flesh back soon.”

“Thanks Gabriel. You’re the best! Really.”

“It’s nothing,” Gabriel said, knocking on the Metatron’s door.

“Enter,” said the Metatron, briskly. “Gabriel. Good. Paperwork?”

Gabriel stepped over to the austere (even by Heaven’s standards) desk of the Metatron. He handed over the first stack of papers.

“This is everything relating to the recorporation of the Archangel Sandalphon.”

“That was fast. Good. I’m sick of him lurking around my office.” The Metatron flipped through. “This looks complete. I’ll be in touch if anything is missing. Of course.”

“Of course,” Gabriel agreed, brightly. “And here’s everything from my journey to Babylon today.”

The Metatron took the much thinner stack and read the cover sheet. “How did that go?”

“Quite well, I think,” he replied. “Humans impressed, and Abram still alive.”

“Prince Beelzebub was there,” said the Metatron. “Any issues?”

“No. Not at all. Prince Beelzebub was courteous, as always.”

The Metatron quirked an eyebrow at that, but let it pass. “Good. I’ll go over your reports. Expect to hear back from me in the next few days.”

“Sure.”

“There’s nothing else,” said the Metatron. “Tell Sandalphon to head to the healers, would you? I’ll be approving his request in the next hour or so.”

“Will do. Have a good day, Metatron.”

“You as well, Gabriel.”

He left the office as he usually did, at a very quick clip. Discorporated Sandalphon kept up.

“And?” he asked.

“You’re to report to the healers,” Gabriel said. “The Metatron said that he’ll probably be giving them the orders to resorporate you in the next hour or so.”

“Thank Heavens!” Sandalphon said. “And thank you.”

“No problem, Sandalphon. Be more careful with this one, right?”

“Right.” Sandalphon practically bounded to the healers.

Gabriel returned to the bright peace of his office. He was off the clock in less than an hour. Less than an hour.

He found paperwork to do to keep his eyes away from the clock. When the time arrived, he sighed, stood up. Stretched, arms and wings both.

He headed to the flight deck. His usual path, watching for eyes. He didn’t feel any. The flight deck was empty. It always was, and who would question the Archangel’s need to stretch his wings, anyways?

Gabriel leapt, unfurling his wings and letting them catch the air. He flew into the clouds, where his lightning would not be noticed.

He arrived home with a CRACK!

The sun was kissing the sea, lighting the sky in pinks and lavenders. The sea itself was a color that was somewhere between grey and green and blue, and reflecting the sky.

He felt small arms wrap around him from behind. A face buried in his feathers, and their sweet breath tickling him as the scent of the garden settled around him.

“You’re home,” Prince Beelzebub said.

“I am,” Gabriel replied.

His voice seemed to smile, and his whole body loosened. He sat down hard in the sand. Prince Beelzebub’s hands went to his shoulders, but he reached behind him, and pulled his Prince into his lap. He lowered his nose to their hair, smelling the earth that they worked, the salt of the sea, and their sweat. He kissed the nape of their neck.

“Did She hurt you?” he asked, lips wandering to the shoulder that the Prince’s shirt had slipped to expose when they tumbled into his lap.

“No,” said Prince Beelzebub. “I haven’t zzeen her zzinzze Babylon.”

“Good,” Gabriel murmured as his hands went to the front of the Prince’s shirt, opening it. Pulling it down their arms. His hands went to their chest, and they sighed as he stroked their breasts. “She’s happy with me, too. And no homework!”

Prince Beelzebub turned their face to him, kissing him deeply.

“Let’zz wash the dezzert off of ourzzelvezz, then,” they said.

“Not yet,” Gabriel said.

He opened their leather pants, freeing their cock. He stroked them, and their body softened, leaning into him. Their arms were still caught in the fabric of their shirt, stuck behind them as surely as if he’d bound them. Not that he expected much protest. He could feel them gripping the fabric of their shirt as their flesh swelled in his hand.

“Yezz. Yezz, my love,” Prince Beelzebub groaned. “Touch me, pleazze!”

Gabriel did.

The sun sank below the horizon. It was past moonrise before he carried his limp, breathless Prince to the glass house. There, they bathed each other in the great copper bathtub and fucked past the sunrise.

Until his Prince’s prayers were reduced to the first syllable of his name and he wore golden badges of their passion, and they wore black ones of his. Until Gabriel couldn’t keep his eyes open, and he stopped caring if his colleagues wondered why he wasn’t in the office that day.

After, they ate stew and fresh fruit and herbed bread in a comfortable silence. The food refreshed them, and after another frolic, they collapsed and slept in the big Murphy bed. Gabriel was warm and comfortable, hoping for another decade and a half of peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abram's story is wild. Some accounts say that an angel scared off Nimrod's army. Some say it was a swarm of insects. Some say that Nimrod gathered kindling and set Abram on fire, and he just walked out of the flames. Some say that he had a civil discussion with Nimrod, and Nimrod felt it was best to let him go.
> 
> Yeah, so I went with bugs and an angel. Oh, and Nimrod is (finally) free of God. That's great, because he was a pagan idol worshipper until he died. 
> 
> Everything about Semiramis after her husband's death is also way, way out there. She's still somewhere in this story, being a badass.


	17. Farewell, Sweet Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and his Prince say goodbye to mortal friends. Another Earth assignment comes nearly a century after the last one. They share a night together before Gabriel must go to Earth to do God's bidding.

Prince Beelzebub’s Garden, Florida Keys, 2848 BCE

* * *

After the assignment of Abram, Gabriel found himself increasingly reluctant to leave his demon and their island. Nobody seemed to notice nor care if he was in his office, and so, he decided that he was going to live his life the way his Prince lived theirs.

Paperwork came to him via his satchel, he kept his office door tightly shut, and nobody came looking for him. If anybody was observing his activities, they kept it to themselves.

He started working entirely from home. Minus the meetings that he attended, and even managed to contribute to.

Frankly, with Prince Beelzebub’s endless supply of miracles, he’d become very, very efficient over the years.

Prince Beelzebub, five years in, had left for a brief errand on Earth. Even though he was not told to accompany them, he was not told NOT to.

The sweet scent of mortal life ending, mixing with heavy incense, seemed to close in the huge room. The bed, a mass of pillows, cradled the drawn form of the once mighty king. Semiramis herself opened the door for them, and bowed deeply as they entered.

Prince Beelzebub took her face in their hands and kissed both cheeks, as if greeting an old friend.

“You came,” she said, through her tears.

“Yezz,” the demon said. “I’ve come to take him. I would zzend nobody elzze.”

“It’s good that it’s you. Iblis...already came and went.”

Prince Beelzebub nodded. They had expected this. It was part of their briefing.

“And you as well?” she asked Gabriel.

“Yes, me as well, my lady,” he said. His voice was quiet, gentle.

“He worships you, still,” Semiramis said.

“Your Great-Mother hazz explained what I could not?”

“Yes,” the queen replied. “I’m sorry. For earlier.”

“Think not on it. You are azz a daughter to me, zzuch izz my love for your Great-Mother.”

“Will he die before moonrise?” she asked.

“He will die...very zzoon.”

“Come then, he will want to see you.”

The children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren of Nimrod parted to allow the angel and demon through. Nimrod regarded them with eyes that were blind with sickness, yet full of perception, somehow.

“Gentle king,” Prince Beelzebub began, holding a hand just over his.

King Nimrod gripped the demon’s hand, brought it to his lips. “Ah, my Prince. I’ve been expecting you. Did you bring the angel?”

“Yezz.”

“I’m here,” Gabriel said.

“Good. I wanted to tell you...none of this...none of this is your fault.” King Nimrod paused to cough up a bloody gout of phlegm. “I’m so sorry that God used me to hurt you. And I understand what is going to happen to me, but you must know that I chose this. If Hell is the absence of the God of the Hebrews, I choose it.”

“Hell is not the absenzze of God,” Prince Beelzebub explained, gently. “God izz, unfortunately, everywhere. But, in Hell, you will have the ability to fight.”

“That’s what Iblis said. She...she was always my dear friend.”

“Mine azz well,” the demon said. “Shall I zzing for you, King Nimrod?”

“Please, I do so love music.”

The song that Prince Beelzebub chose was a hymn, a pagan hymn, that took the best elements of many of the songs written for them over the years. It was a sweet song, a gentle song. A song to die to.

Their voice buzzed and hummed through the verses, like wind through trees, like insects floating through an orchard.

There was peace in the sickroom. And by the end of it, King Nimrod’s eyes were closed. His heart stopped and his bowels and bladder loosened, as it happens for all mortals as they die.

His soul floated from him, silvery and light.

The demon pulled a small glass bottle from their robes, and opened it for King Nimrod. He waved to his family as he entered the bottle.

A wail went up amongst the assembled, and the angel and the demon stayed for it. For the grief and the tears. The humans eventually took their king’s body to be washed, and his eldest son, the new king, comforted his mother.

Prince Beelzebub knelt before the queen, “We must take our leave,” they said.

“You’re welcome to stay for the funeral. For my son’s coronation,” Semiramis said.

“Zzweet Zzemiramis,” they said. “God doezz not allow me to be in the zzame plazze azz Iblizz. Iblizz dezzervezz to zzay goodbye to the king.”

“Are you taking him, my Nimrod, then?”

“I muzzt. He will find a plazze in the armiezz of Hell,” the Prince said, loweing their head in a bow. “You will zzee me again, but only onzze. Hopefully, not for many yearzz.” They handed her a scrap of parchment. “When you are dying, call for me. I would like to zzay farewell, until I zzee you again.”

“Did you see me before?”

“Yezz, when you were called Anwar, wife of Cain,” they said. “And again, when you were a priezztezz of your Great Mother, in the temple of Enoch. I wazz with you both timezz, as you zzlipped through the veil. I would be with you again, if you permit it.”

Semiramis closed the scrap of paper in her hand, and put it in a pocket. She grabbed the demon’s hands with her own and pulled them into a hug. Gabriel noticed then that they were of a height, and of a certain resemblance. He felt that he had seen this before, but he could not place it. Perhaps in the garden?

Semiramis did resemble Lilith a great deal.

The demon kissed her brow. “Give Iblizz my regards. And Gabriel hazz brought giftzz, for the funeral, and for your son’zz azzent.”

Semiramis regarded him, as did her son. Gabriel bowed, as angels were supposed to bow to all of the humans. Then, he reached into his robes for the very deep pockets that his Prince had installed for him. “For the funeral, Queen Semiramis.”

He pulled out a large basket of herbed cheeses and another, closed basket of dried flowers.

“Flowers for the pyre,” he said, opening the basket. “Cheeses for your guests.”

He pulled forth another basket. It bleated. “Goats for the new king. You pull them out and they’ll...uh...they get bigger.”

He opened the basket and Semiramis peered in at thirteen goats the size of coins.

“Ten nanny goats and three billies,” Gabriel explained. “And this.”

He pulled the last basket out. Opened it and let the new king and his mother stare at the contents. A bunch of small canvas bags, labeled in Prince Beelzebub’s meticulous script.

“Zzeedzz,” the demon explained. “Many plantzz that grow where we live. Plantzz that should do well here. Many fruit treezz and zzpizzezz.”

“Thank you,” said Nimrod’s son. “Thank you, angel and demon.”

“You’re very welcome,” Gabriel said.

Prince Beelzebub hugged Semiramis again, and returned to Gabriel’s side. “We muzzt go. Until I zee you again, Zzemiramizz.”

Semiramis gave a weak smile through her tears. “We part as friends.”

“We do,” the demon agreed.

Gabriel nodded, and they had left the palace, to ride the lightning back to their stone house and their glass house. 

A decade later, and still no word from God, Prince Beelzebub went to ease Semiramis across the veil. They went alone, because they had wanted to.

They returned to him with eyes wet with tears. “She’zz gone,” they told him, by way of greeting. “I know that she’ll be back, and that she’zz gone to her Great-Mother’zz Garden, but...”

Gabriel held them that night, in the flickering light of the beeswax candles that they had lit, and surrounded by flowers, for the daughter of Lilith.

The next morning, they buried the burned candles and the flowers in the tradition of Lilith and her daughters. Their lives went on.

God did not call upon either of them. Paperwork came, was completed, was sent back.

On the full moon, the demon would disappear for a report from Iblis. They would return, replete and full of news.

Every now and again, Gabriel went to Heaven for meetings of varying importance. The humans fought and fucked and expanded. The angels guided them in the light of God.

The demons tempted them to darkness.

Frankly, the demons were better at it than the angels.

That was not an opinion that Gabriel shared with anyone but his demon.

God didn’t require Gabriel’s personal attention for nearly a century. He was working at the trestle table. He was nearly finished, and his Prince was already done with their work. They were clearing the table.

“One lazzt cherry,” they said. “Want it?”

Gabriel nodded, and they dropped a fat, black cherry into his mouth before cleaning the fruit bowl and carrying it back to the larder.

They returned, standing behind him and beginning to work the knots out of his shoulders as he signed the last of it.

“Need a copy?” they asked.

“Nope. That’s it,” he said, reaching around himself and drawing them into his lap. The last few pages had been torturously slow, with many details that he’d had to check and double check. His demon clearing the table, pulling down the Murphy bed--the heat of their body and the scent of their sex, so ready for him as they wrapped up the mundane odds and ends of their day--these things had not helped his focus. But it was finished, and now they were in his lap.

He kissed them, tasting the fruit from earlier in the day on their breath. Their shirt opened for him, showing off the marks that he’d left on them last night. He kissed each in turn as they buried their fingers in his hair. They called for him, mouth up to the rafters. They called again, but it was different, somehow.

“Gabriel?” they asked, pulling his head away from their skin. “Your satchel. It moved.”

“Ugh. Whatever it is, it can wait,” Gabriel said, but he still fished the parchment out of the satchel. It was sealed, and the seal was Elohim’s. Gabriel sighed and broke the seal. He read the parchment, which meant that his demon read it as well. “Earth assignment tomorrow,” he said.

“You’re zztriking down ZZodom and Gomorrah,” they said, with a sigh.

“Are you supposed to be there?”

“No word yet,” Prince Beelzebub said. “But that doezzn’t mean anything.”

Gabriel shoved the parchment back into the satchel. “It’s like She knows the worst time to tell me these things.”

“She doezz. She’zz God.”

“Well, I was busy, and she doesn’t need me until tomorrow.”

He held his Prince close to him, and stood up. He carried them to the Murphy bed and dropped them down on the down mattress before pulling his own clothes off and joining them.

Gabriel started his worship of his true god with their feet, and slowly (reverently) worked their flesh to light and joy with his fingers, mouth, and cock. In this way, he defied the creature that named herself God. He elevated another above Her, and worshipped until the moon slipped beneath the horizon, and he felt the approach of the dawn.

He was deep inside his demon, one hand wrapped around their cock, and his mouth on theirs. Their back pressed to chest, rocking on him in his lap, whimpering and buzzing endearments into his mouth.

He broke the kiss and shoved them forward, down on all fours. They obeyed, and he grabbed their hips and drove into them.

He came with the dawn, and they followed, a heartbeat later, in their own hand. He fell sideways, taking them with him. The silvery light of the new day was shattered by the Princes prisms, and they groaned at the sight.

“Not yet,” he said, and slipped out of them. He rolled them onto their back, and crawled between their knees.

If he wasn’t getting breakfast, this would have to do. He began to clean his Prince, rousing them again. They hardened for him, as they always did. Gabriel slipped his mouth over their cock, teasing the foreskin gently.

“Yezz, my love,” they whimpered as he slipped two fingers inside them. “More...”

He gave them what they asked for, what they needed. Prince Beelzebub cried out for him again and again. But he kept changing what he was doing. Holding them at the edge, until their endearments faded to pleas. Until they were begging.

He began working their cock in earnest. His Prince came with a shuddering sigh, little toes spreading and sweat sheening their skin. He swallowed what they gave him, knowing fully well that they would have to empty him of everything in order for him to go to work.

He cleaned them, cock and sweet little mouth underneath, and stayed with them for as long as he could. Until they cleaned him with a miracle, removed his Effort, and the contents of his bladder and intestines. Until he had to dress himself and leave for the salt flats of the Jordan Valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semiramis' story after Nimrod's death is pretty much what you would expect for a strong woman ruler after her husband's death. Mostly a bunch of slander from weak men. She ruled through her son for many years. This is true. The land was named Sumeria after her, because she was so influential. 
> 
> One of the wilder stories was that she was a wanton temptress who fell in love with a certain man, and sent her men to acquire her love. They acquired him a bit too enthusiastically, and he died. So, she dressed up the head of her guards in his clothes and fucked him instead.
> 
> As you do.
> 
> Comments and kudos make me smile. I need smiles, y'all. I'm writing with a cracked wisdom tooth.


	18. The Hospitality of Abraham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel meets Sandalphon and Aziraphale on the way to see Abraham and Sarah. After a short visit, the three angels set off towards Sodom, with Abraham walking along and bargaining for the safety of the city.

Plains of Mamre, Spring, 2848 BCE

* * *

The road was empty in the bright sun of the midafternoon, well, empty except for Gabriel. Abraham’s pastures stretched out, green and lovely, on both sides of the rutted earth road, underneath a sky that was so huge, empty, and blue. Gabriel walked slowly, inhaling the salt in the air, feeling the heat rise up under his sandals.

There was a short tree ahead, one of the scrubby-looking fig trees that dotted the landscape here. Beneath that tree, waited the short, broad, winged bundle of fabric that Gabriel was meeting on the road.

“Sandalphon?” Gabriel asked.

“Gabriel!” Sandalphon said. “Glad to see you. Glad to see you.”

“Likewise. Haven’t seen you since that meeting last month,” Gabriel returned, with a false dawn creeping into his voice. He used that fake, effervescent tone whenever he dealt with other angels. It made them happy, and Gabriel couldn't really summon any ill will towards Sandalphon. Sandalphon was secure in God’s love. That was a thing Gabriel would never willingly steal from someone. “How have you been?”

“Oh, busy. Busy,” Sandalphon replied. “Getting ready for today. Let me tell you, I am excited about the Sodom and Gomorrah project.” He flashed the hilt of his sword. “Can’t wait. Really, I cannot.”

“That’s the spirit,” Gabriel said. “Wings in, though. Let’s not be too austentatious, alright?”

“Oh. Sure.” Sandalphon drew his fine white wings into the second realm.

“What are you wearing?” Gabriel asked, holding one of Sandalphon’s many, many layers of rags between his thumb and forefinger.

“Clothes. Humans like them,” Sandalphon said, brightly. “I mean, last time, I didn’t bother. Apparently, the guys upstairs thought that might have contributed to my...problems...with those Lilith witches.”

“Great work, Sandalphon. Really,” Gabriel said. “But...uh...this is actually more clothes than you need. I’m not sure how you’re moving. You look like a ball of rags.”

“It’s what I was given for the mission,” Sandalphon said.

“Let me help you, then.”

In the patchy shade of a short fig tree, Gabriel stripped Sandalphon down and helped him dress himself in one of the three sets of robes that he’d been given for the mission. One set of robes was very fine, and one was better suited to a beggar. Gabriel dressed Sandalphon in the set of robes in the middle. Travelling robes, cool and comfortable, and easy to move in. The rest, he wrapped into a travel roll that his demon had taught him how to make.

“Thanks Gabriel,” Sandalphon said, beaming. “I feel so much better.”

“No problem. Really,” Gabriel said. “Your briefing should have been more clear, frankly.”

“Well, I’m dressed, so what now?”

“Oh, there’s one more. A contact on Earth. His name is Aziraphale.”

“A Watcher?”

“Sort of. I mean, there are so many Principalities who lost their original assignments as humans moved and built and rebuilt. I think that they’re taking up for the Watchers,” Gabriel explained. “This one, he was the Principality of the Eastern Gate in Eden.”

“Oh, impressive!” Sandalphon said. “Wait, he wasn’t the one who let the serpent in, was he?”

“God exonerated all of the Principalities of the Gates. The snake flew in before She ripped his wings out of his snake form. Shouldn’t be able to do that little trick twice.”

“Oh, good.”

“Ah, that must be our Principality,” Gabriel said, as another traveler walked towards them from the direction of Sodom and Gomorrah.

The other angel walked at an infuriatingly slow pace. Twice, he stopped to examine something on the side of the road. He kept looking up at the sky, or down at the road. Anywhere but where he was going.

He had a walking stick, but this did not help his progress at all.

Eventually, the Principality joined his fellows under the fig tree.

“Oh, hello,” he said, shyly. “Gabriel, Sandalphon.”

“You must be Aziraphale, previously the Principality of the Eastern Gate?” Gabriel asked.

“I am, sir.”

“I don’t think you’ve been reassigned?”

“No, sir,” said the angel with the lambskin curls who puffed and sweat beside Gabriel.

“I’m sure that’s an oversight, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, brightly. “There’s...uh...a ton of gates these days! I’m sure God will find one for you...in the east.”

“Thanks,” Aziraphale said, glumly.

“Anyways, as I was telling you, Sandalphon--Aziraphale has been our eyes on the ground for quite some time,” Gabriel explained. “He’s been keeping a shop of some kind in the city of Sodom, and according to his reports, the situation is grim.”

“Grim, eh? That’s great!” Sandalphon patted the sword under his clothes. “Can’t wait!”

“Sandalphon is a very motivated smiter,” Gabriel explained to Aziraphale. “Looks like we’re going to find a lot of people in need of smiting tonight.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s all bad,” Aziraphale said. “There are kind people there. There’s a wonderful woman who--“

“Women don’t matter,” Sandalphon said. “They don’t have souls.”

“Oh. Bother.” Aziraphale fondled his walking stick nervously. “There are some very kind men there, as well.”

“God wants those cities destroyed, so they’re going to be destroyed,” Gabriel said brightly. “Don’t let it get you down, Aziraphale. I’m sure you did your best, but humans are just so eager to sin. Nothing to be done about it, except to wipe the slate from time to time.”

“I suppose,” Aziraphale agreed, hesitantly.

“Good,” Gabriel said. “I think we can be on our way, then. Abraham’s tent is not far from here.”

The three of them departed, walking with purpose to the large leather tent in the pasture.

The small boy shivering in the heat of Babylon, looking fearfully upon the soldiers of Nimrod had grown into manhood. He was, in fact, a very old man. His cropped curls and long beard were as white as Aziraphale’s, as he led his flocks from one part of the pasture to another. He hailed the travelers, and selected a fat calf from his herds. He called something to a servant, who took the calf, and then he called a few words to his wife.

His wife, a wizened old woman, worked at the tent. She waved at the travelers as they approached. Her name was Sarah, Gabriel remembered as he returned the woman’s hail. She’d wanted a child so badly that she’d allowed her husband to force himself on her handmaiden.

And he had. The shivering boy in Babylon grew to be the type to force himself on a woman. And his wife had grown to be the type to allow it. To demand it.

The boy that he made was out in the fields, with the ill-gotten flocks that Abraham had acquired through some trickery in Egypt. Raphael had been involved with that. Raphael had sent plagues to Pharaoh after he had been tricked by Abraham (then Abram) into marrying Sarah. After showering his young wife’s “brother” Abraham with gifts.

“Good sirs,” Sarah said, leading them to a shady tree. “Sit, and let us make you welcome.”

Gabriel noticed, to his amazement, that the woman was with child. She was very old, and yet...

“Sarah,” he said. “You’re...you’re pregnant!”

And Sarah laughed. Openly and beautifully. Her voice was light and lovely, the voice of a grandmother, not an expectant mother. And yet...

“I’m an ancient woman, gentle sir,” she said, when she’d recovered from her laughter. “I’m mostly dust at this point! Am I finally to have my useless womb quicken--at ninety years old?”

“Are you laughing?” Sandalphon asked. His voice was a blade in the dark. It was a dangerous thing.

“No, of course not,” she muttered, shrinking away from the burly angel.

“You did laugh,” Gabriel said. “But that’s fine.”

“I meant no disrespect!” Sarah yelped. She was frightened.

“Do you not have faith?” Sandalphon asked, his voice lighter. “Do you think that all things are not possible with the Lord?”

“Let her laugh,” Gabriel said to Sandalphon. “There was no malice to it. She was surprised. That’s all.”

Abraham went to the angels, and spoke to them. He greeted them all, but he remembered Gabriel from Nimrod’s time, and was happy to see him. His whole life seemed to come from him in a jumbled rush of excited words.

“Did you not bring the lady this time?” he asked.

“She was not assigned to this task,” Gabriel said. He drank the water that Abraham offered him. It tasted salty and metallic, but politeness demanded politeness.

The humans had not noticed that Sandalphon hadn’t touched his, nor that Aziraphale had dumped his out.

“What lady?” Aziraphale asked.

“Prince Beelzebub accompanied me the first time that I met Abraham,” Gabriel explained.

“Prince Beelzebub? The demon? Lord of the Flies?”

“Insects aren’t kosher, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said. “No angel can do what the Prince can do. And even the devil bows his head before God.”

“She...she’s a demon?” Abraham asked. He looked as if he’d been slapped. “But...she was kind to me.”

“She was as she was ordered to be,” Gabriel explained. “Nothing more, and nothing less.”

The calf was then brought out. It was the richest fare that Abraham could have set before them. To the credit of his servants, it was fairly good, if unspiced.

Gabriel had to nudge Sandalphon to get him to eat, and the other angel had no idea how to do it. (Well, Gabriel himself had to learn how to use a spoon and knife. And he had.) Sandalphon ate, eventually. Haltingly, and with great difficulty. 

Aziraphale ate half-heartedly. Gabriel assumed that he didn’t want anything on his stomach for what was to come. He seemed hesitant to do God’s will, but that was understandable. Principalities became attached to the things that they were supposed to protect. Even if they were not formally assigned.

Abraham finished his life's story by thanking Gabriel for his work with Nimrod. Without which, he would not have everything that he had. Gabriel demurred, giving the glory to God. As God would expect.

After the meal, the angels announced that they were walking toward Sodom, and Abraham offered to accompany them. As Gabriel knew that he would.

“Oh, look,” Aziraphale said, when they were on the road. “That cloud looks a bit like a bunny, don’t you think?”

“It does,” Sandalphon agreed. A strong wind pulled at their robes. “Look, its head’s come off of its body.”

Aziraphale looked green, and then was silent.

Gabriel looked at the hearty old man who walked beside them. “Abraham, we’ve been sent to destroy Sodom. Maybe it would be best if you didn’t come along.”

“Destroy Sodom? But why?”

“It displeases God. The people there are sinners, fornicators, and inhospitable to strangers. God wants them gone.”

“Would our heavenly Father destroy the righteous with the wicked?”

_She often does_, Gabriel thought. But he said, “What do you propose?”

“What if we can find fifty good souls?”

“God would not destroy Sodom if we can find fifty,” Gabriel agreed. He had been authorized to lie to Abraham.

“What if we only found forty-five? Would God destroy Sodom for a lack of five righteous souls?”

“I don’t suppose.”

“What if...there are only thirty?”

“Sodom will stand if there are thirty righteous souls,” Gabriel confirmed.

“Would the lord permit the city to continue with ten? Ten righteous souls?”

“If we can find ten righteous souls, Sodom will be spared,” Gabriel agreed.

The ancient herder smiled at the angels. “Thank you, my lords. Sodom is just down the road. I shall be returning to my home now, as you told me to. But you will find hospitality with my nephew, Lot.”

“God be with you, Abraham,” Gabriel said. “And thank you, for all of your help.”

Aziraphale waved at the man as he left, and the three of them very shortly found themselves at the gates of the great city of Sodom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's springtime because there was a calf to be slaughtered.
> 
> Abram is almost a trickster figure in the Bible. He managed to get his wealth by tricking Pharoah into believing that Sarai (eventually Sarah) was his sister. Pharaoh married Sarah and gave gifts of servants and animals to her "brother". After a few plagues, he returned Sarai to Abram and sent them away, instead of just killing both of them. And he allowed them to take his gifts! 
> 
> Eventually, Sarah wanted a child, and demanded that Abram rape Hagar, with her there for the whole thing. He did, and his child Ishmael was made. Hagar ran away for a while, as her relationship with Sarah had deteriorated. Angels brought her back to have her child. 
> 
> Genesis is weird, y'all.
> 
> Happy New Year's! Hope 2020 is awesome for everybody!


	19. Come Kiss My Cold Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two angels (and one hidden angel) arrive at the gates of the great city of Sodom. Lot shows them hospitality, but the rest of the city is displeased with the appearance of the strangers. A mob gathers like clouds and a storm is coming.

The City of Sodom, That Evening

* * *

Nearly at the gate, Sandalphon slipped into the wing realm, as he was supposed to. Aziraphale and Gabriel could still see him, but he was invisible to the humans.

“Why is he doing that?” Aziraphale asked.

“Oh, Sandalphon here is supposed to stay well-hidden. He makes his point with his sword.”

“That’s funny!” Sandalphon exclaimed.

“Thanks,” Gabriel replied. “Oh, look. There’s Lot.”

An older man in clean (but well-loved and much mended) robes waited for God’s angels at the gate.

“Come, o holy ones!” he cried out. “One of my uncle’s servants told me to prepare for you. Come into my home, and soon. The night comes, and with it all manner of troubles. We will feed you and give you a safe place to spend the night. You can be on your way in the morning.”

“It _is_ best to be inside at night,” Aziraphale agreed. “There are some...rather unsavory elements...in the city.”

“Nonsense,” Gabriel said, his voice warm and full of bravado. “We wouldn’t trouble you, dear fellow. God has sent us to see the city. We will be safe.”

“Please, friends,” Lot insisted. “Please come to my home. The streets of Sodom are not a safe place, not even for your holinesses.”

“What kind of unsavory elements?” Gabriel asked Aziraphale.

“The kind that carry cudgels and cause very inconvenient discorporations.”

“Have you ever been discorporated here?”

“Oh, goodness, no!” Aziraphale said. “I just give them the pressing urge to be somewhere else, and they leave me alone. They’re poor and desperate people, Gabriel. They’re not any worse than other men who live in the great cities.”

“Please, gentlemen. Friends. Please come to my house and take my hospitality!”

“You press upon us, and we therefore obey. Lead on, good Lot.”

Lot led on. Aziraphale narrated the journey. He seemed to know every rock of the place.

“That’s the tent where the old weaver sells her wares. She’s a kindly woman, with a great love of honey. Her sons are both fishermen,” he said. “She’s been selling cloth at this tent for nearly fifty years. Oh, and this is a lovely shop,” he said, pointing to a spackled building with a simple sign hanging over the door, advertising crockery. “They make clever things. The man who runs that shop is a dear friend, and a godly man.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gabriel said, in the angelic tongue.

“But you told Abraham--“

“I know what I said,” Gabriel replied. “God authorized me to lie to Abraham. This town is to be destroyed. Godly and ungodly. It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said. His voice was hollow. “Lot lives in this house...we’re very nearly there. He has a wife and many daughters. Two of them still live with their parents. I...I can’t remember their names, just now.”

“That’s fine, Aziraphale. You’ve done well.”

Aziraphale nodded, staring down at his sandals as he shuffled along. The door opened for them, and Gabriel smelled the warm bread that the women were setting on the table for them.

The dinner was wine and fishes, and bread still hot from the oven. It was well-salted, and tasted a great deal better than what Abraham had set before them. Sandalphon, thankfully, did not have to pretend to eat. The wine was red, sweetened with honey and watered.

Gabriel ate and drank because he was supposed to. Lot chatted with Aziraphale amicably. Aziraphale knew the family well, and their conversation about the pedestrian events of the city gave Gabriel an idea of the flavor of the place. The wealthy hoarded their money and goods, and gave very little to the poor. Strangers could expect trouble. The lords argued over land. The artisans organized themselves in guilds that fought over everything. The peasants squabbled over chickens and who had the prettiest dogs. The women were either too lewd or too prudish as the conversation wended and the wine became stronger.

Gabriel took water after two glasses of wine. Aziraphale was not so prudent.

Conversation poured from the two men as the women silently refilled their cups, and as Gabriel watched. He began to wonder if it wasn’t by some divine (or infernal) mockery that his demon ended up being the Prince of Gluttony, and not Aziraphale.

Then again, he had been in this city, amongst these humans for many long years. And he was a Principality. It was a horrible thing, to take away something that a Principality was protecting. God was hurting something dear to Aziraphale, and forcing the Principality to watch its destruction.

Gabriel wondered briefly what Aziraphale had done to rouse the anger of God.

From the street, the strains of a wood harp reached Gabriel’s ears, and a familiar refrain.

“‘Come and kizz my cold, dead lipzz, o my bride,

and zzee the truth of thine own zzweet huzzband.’

Young and old, hard and zzoft, she takes hizz hand.

Look how she goezz, zzo gentle to hizz zzide.”

The elder daughter rose, “Shall I close the shutters, father?” she asked

“Lot despises the pagan hymns,” Aziraphale explained. “They are lovely, though, aren’t they?”

“I don’t recognize that singer,” Lot said, looking out his window. “A woman! She ought to know better. The men of this town are likely to become inflamed with her.”

“‘I fear you not. I know your name, my love.’

Her zzweet breath did linger on lipzz zzo warm.

His wingzz unfurled. Her kizz brought on hizz zztorm.

O, their heat below fed the rainzz above.”

“Huh, see? The men are gathering.” Lot pointed, and Gabriel and Aziraphale were obliged to look.

“That’s a rather lot of them,” Aziraphale observed.

Gabriel could see his demon, cloak over their face and wings. Hiding even from other demons and any angels who might be watching. A man, a rich man from the cut of robes, leered as them as they finished the last few notes of the song.

“Coin for the zzong, zzir?” they asked.

“I’d pay coin for your cunt,” he said. The men behind him chuckled.

“That’zz not for zzale,” they said.

“Then I’ll just take it,” he said, grabbing for Prince Beelzebub.

The demon dodged him easily. “Leave me alone,” they said. “Why are you coming after me, anywayzz?”

They dropped their cowl, showing a hag’s face full of boils. Two milky eyes looked in the direction of their would-be attacker.

“Oh, fuck!” he said, reeling back.

“If you want flesh, old Lot is hozzting a couple of zztrange men,” the Prince said, casually. “One is round and zzoft and tender. The other is very tall and handzzome.”

“That was unkind of her...” Aziraphale said with a deep frown.

“Close the shutters, quickly!” Lot said, and he went to the door.

“Lot! Old man LOOOOOT!” came the first cry. Others followed it. “Open the door! Open up!”

“How many men are out there?” Gabriel asked as the shutters began to slam shut.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Too many to count. I think...maybe...there might be some demons in the crowd, Gabriel.”

Sandalphon, invisible to the humans in his corner of the room, brightened at Aziraphale’s observation.

“Father! Father! They’re all around the house!” Lot’s youngest daughter said, as she ran back into the main room of the house. She panted with her fear and the speed with which she and her mother and sister had closed the shutters.

“There’s so many of them,” her sister agreed. “I think the whole town is outside!”

“Send out your guests, Lot! We just want to ask them a few questions!”

“They are strangers. Let us give them a good, firm welcome!”

“Send us the men! Or else!”

“We would know them, Lot!”

“Let us--“

“The men--“

“Lot--“

“Lot!”

“LOT!”

Lot went to the door, “Everyone stay back. I’ll try to calm them.”

He went out the door, and Gabriel stayed near, where he could hear Lot through the heavy wooden shutters.

“Friends,” he said, “I have guests, and they should be left in peace.”

“They are strangers,” a voice called.

“We wish to know them,” another agreed.

“With our cocks.”

The last voice, coarse and harsh, could have only come from a demon. A cheer, loud and human, rang out after those words.

“I have two daughters, both very fair and comely. And both virgins. I’ll send them out, but please do not harm the men under my roof! I vowed to keep them safe.”

Both of Lot’s daughters began to cry then. They clung to each other, these gentle and obedient children who had not even been introduced to Gabriel. They laced their fingers together and wept and prayed. Their mother rested a hand on each of their heads as they fell to their knees. All three of them shivered in their terror.

“We want the men,” said another demon. His voice dripped lechery. “And if you don’t turn them over, we’ll take them anyways, and your pretty daughters, too.”

The mob advanced. Lot screamed as they began to hammer his door. Gabriel yanked the door open and pulled Lot back into his home. The Archangel latched and bolted the door.

“They’ll break that door down, soon enough.” Lot sank into a cushion near his family. His wife would not meet his gaze. She was watching her children, who held each other very tightly. “I am sorry, holy ones. My home is not safe enough for you.”

“Fear not,” Gabriel said. “God is with you.”

Aziraphale went to the door and picked up his walking stick where he had left it. “It’s ironwood,” he told Gabriel. “It’s no flaming sword, but it will do well enough.”

The clay jug of wine was full, and the Principality was empty. His eyes were the blue of an clear winter sky, and he looked as though he could do a fair bit of harm to any man who tried to enter the home of his friend.

The men screamed their need and hammered at the door. In the shadows, Sandalphon drew his sword. The steel scraped his leather scabbard, and his brown eyes sparked with anticipation.

Only Gabriel was unarmed, though he was not truly unarmed as long as there were clouds in the sky. And there were. He could feel them. Slowly, they began to move.

Gabriel felt the energy in them, longing to come down.

The bangs on the door stopped and the men’s screams changed.

“I can’t see!”

“I’m blind!”

“Help!”

“Help us!”

Gabriel opened the door, but only a hair’s breadth. Enough to see the men of Sodom stumbling blindly in the street.

Across the street, a black-clad crone, plague-stricken and pathetic, picked up their wood harp and nodded at Gabriel before dissolving into insects and flying away.

Dukes Hastur and Ligur gave Gabriel a couple of exaggerated bows before walking, arm-in-arm, away from the confusion of the mob.

Gabriel shut the door. “They’re leaving. God has struck them blind.”

“Praise be to God,” Lot said. “He is infinite in His mercy!”

“God is wroth with this city. Lot, you must gather to you your daughters and their husbands. Your wife and anything that you have of value,” Gabriel explained. “We will be destroying Sodom on the dawn.”

“As you say,” Lot said. “I must go and tell my other daughters and their husbands.”

“I can help your wife and daughters to pack the wagon,” Aziraphale said.

“Much appreciated, friend. How far must we go?”

“Into the mountains,” Gabriel said.

“I’m an old man. I cannot make it that far,” Lot said, miserably. “I shall send my wife and children. Unless...”

“Unless?” Gabriel asked.

“Unless the Lord would spare the little town north of here,” Lot said. “I could make it that far.”

“Tell me of the town.”

“It is so small that it has no name, and the people there are godly people.” Lot smiled as he thought on the place. “They live in caves, mostly. And they are kind to travelers.”

“As you say, let it be. God will spare this small town, and its name shall be Zoar,” Gabriel said. “Go now, and collect your relatives. Aziraphale will help pack your belongings, and I shall protect your family as they work.”

Gabriel beamed a reassuring smile to Lot, who left to do as he was commanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to split the chapter so I could backfill part two with smut. 
> 
> This is pretty much verbatim what happened in Genesis, regarding Lot. Yeah, he offered his daughters to the mob. Stand up guy, Lot.
> 
> Next chapter will be smiting and smut.


	20. In Flames and Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sinful city of Sodom is struck down. This chapter ran long, so the next chapter is all smut.

Aziraphale and the women succeeded in packing the family’s belongings into the old wagon, and hitching it to their mule. The girls still wept on occasion, and once, Aziraphale had stopped his work to give the younger one a sweet and a few words of encouragement.

Lot returned, many hours later, looking tired and stricken.

“None of them listened--not my daughters nor their husbands,” he said, miserably.

“Truly?” Aziraphale asked. “I thought them to be godly men!”

“They think I’m a foolish old man,” he said. “They do not believe that the Lord would strike them down.”

“You must take your wife then, and these two,” Gabriel said. “The dawn comes, and soon.”

Lot looked back at his city, where his other daughters and their husbands still slept. Where his grandchildren still slept. He hesitated, leaning on a fine ironwood walking staff that he must have just come into the possession of.

Gabriel grabbed Lot by the arm, and his wife as well, who had not stopped leaking silent tears since her husband announced that he was willing to allow her youngest daughters to be thrown to the mob. He shoved them both, a bit roughly, in the direction of the northern gate.

“Leave. And do not look back upon this place, or risk God’s wrath,” he said to them.

Aziraphale handed each of the daughters a bag of sweets, and blessed them in God’s name. He kissed each on her brow and sent them off. They clung to each other as they followed their parents towards Zoar.

Unseen by the humans, Sandalphon smacked the old mule across the flank, and she startled. The cart began to rumble toward the gate.

“Wing realm,” Gabriel said, when the humans were out of earshot.

“How are we going to do this?” Sandalphon asked.

“Best to follow them out, I think,” Aziraphale ventured. “It’s not yet light, you see. And the streets might still be dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Nonsense,” Sandalphon said. “God struck the mob with blindness. You saw that yourself.”

“I didn’t see it,” Aziraphale said, somewhat tartly. “But Gabriel did. There are men in the town who did not join the mob. Some of them might be dangerous.”

“Aziraphale is right,” Gabriel said, “We should follow them. If they look back, Sandalphon, you know what must be done.”

Sandalphon grinned. “I sure do.”

“Let’s get out of the city,” Gabriel said.

Aziraphale looked up, “Awfully cloudy this morning, isn’t it?”

Sandalphon gave a bark of laughter, “Oh, he’s funny, isn’t he?”

Gabriel sighed and shook his head, following Lot and his family as they left the gates. The girls clung to each other so tightly. It was an image that stayed with him, even years later when he heard that they’d made their father drunk on wine and stolen his seed to provide him with male heirs. He didn’t believe the story. He was quite sure it was Lot who gave his daughters wine and forced himself on them.

But God’s version of the story stuck.

Gabriel would hear some holy men speak of it later, with reverence for the daughters and their dedication to their father. And Gabriel would think on two girls, barely into their teens, clinging to each other on an empty road, just before the last dawn of Sodom. Just before the destruction of everything that they knew.

Once the three angels were out of the gates, Gabriel looked back upon the city.

“Aziraphale,” he said, “watch Lot and his family. Inform us immediately if any of them look back.”

“Yes, sir,” Aziraphale said, and turned to the family. Turned away from the city that Gabriel was about to strike down.

“Where’s your stick?” Sandalphon asked.

“Oh, it’s a long walk,” Aziraphale said, with a wave of his hand. “Lot is an old man. He needs it more than I do.”

“He’s mortal. You shouldn’t be giving away your weapons to mortals,” Sandalphon said.

“It’s a stick, Sandalphon,” Gabriel said. “He can find another one, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Watch Lot and his family,” Gabriel repeated. He took Sandalphon by the hem of his sleeve and pulled him a bit away. “Me first. Your fire will burn those clouds away.”

“As you say,” Sandalphon replied. His eyes glittered.

Gabriel raised his hands over his head. The wind began to kick up, a sudden cold wind at the end of spring. Then everything went still. He felt the energy, the electricity, building above him. And building. And building.

The light of dawn touched the soil of Sodom, and it was time.

He drew everything down with a fluid sweep of his hands. Thick bolts of lightning, silvery violet, fell like rain over the city of Sodom and her sister, Gomorrah. Buildings began to explode. Humans and animals screamed.

The area stank of ozone.

“Did they look?” Sandalphon asked.

“I don’t know!” Aziraphale said. “I looked away! It was all very loud.”

“Watch them, not us,” Gabriel said. “It’s going to be loud.”

Aziraphale nodded and turned back to Lot.

“Your turn,” Gabriel said to Sandalphon.

Sandalphon whispered a few words into his clasped hands, and when he opened them, fire streaked from the sky to burn whatever the lightning missed.

“Oh. Oh no. She looked...” Aziraphale breathed, very softly. “She didn’t mean to. It was...all...so very loud.”

“Which one?” Sandalphon asked. He smiled, and his eagerness was an obscene thing.

“Lot’s wife,” Aziraphale said, miserably. “Please...please have mercy...”

Sandalphon unfurled his wings and flew to the woman. She did not seem to notice the presence of the Archangel, so captured was she by the dazzle of his flames. He smiled beatifically at Gabriel as he touched her head.

It began at her feet. A glitter, reflecting the dancing light of Sodom’s fires. Of Sandalphon’s flames. It rose through her calves and thighs, Gabriel knew this though he could not see it through her clothing. By the look on her face, the process must have been exceptionally painful. She did not cry out.

Gabriel could feel that her fear and pain were mixed with a deeper emotion--her love for her daughters. That love stilled her tongue, her throat. She did not cry out.

It finished, and she stood there. For just a moment, she was a shimmering statue of a woman clothed in linen. That moment passed, and Lot’s wife crumbled into a pile of linen and fine salt.

Aziraphale crumbled with her, falling to his knees and bursting into tears.

“She disobeyed God Almighty, and you weep for her. You’re weak in your faith,” Sandalphon admonished.

“No, he’s a Principality,” Gabriel said. “Leave him alone. He’s grieving.”

Sandalphon shrugged, and turned away from Aziraphale. The flames licked higher in the sky, black smoke billowing above. The fire reflected in Sandalphon’s eyes, in his tiny pupils, in his very white teeth which gleamed a ghoulish red in the light of Sodom burning.

Gabriel kept his expression impassive, not looking at the gently sobbing Principality behind him, nor on the family that trundled on, unaware of their lost mother and wife.

The angels stayed until Sodom and her sister city were nothing but airblown cinders and smoldering rubble. Nothing stirred there, except ash on the breeze. No life remained.

“That’s it then,” Gabriel said, using his angel-appropriate voice. It was effusive, even though the stench of burnt flesh from Sodom had long ago turned his stomach and his heart. “Sandalphon, I expect a report. It doesn’t have to be a long one.”

“No problem,” Sandalphon said warmly. “This was so much fun! I hope I get another chance to do some fieldwork soon.”

_I hope you don’t_. Gabriel thought, but he said, “I’m glad you had a good time. Look, I’m going to take a few minutes with Aziraphale here. Why don’t you head back upstairs, okay?”

“Sure thing!” Sandalphon took wing almost immediately. “See you in the office!”

Gabriel managed a cheery wave. Then, he knelt down beside Aziraphale. “Hey...” he began. “I was thinking...maybe you should join Lot and his daughters in Zoar.”

“Could I?” Aziraphale asked, softly.

“You could. I can make the paperwork happen.” Gabriel frowned. “Quick question. Did Lot already know that you’re an angel? He didn’t seem particularly surprised, and you two obviously know each other.”

“Some mortals are very perceptive,” Aziraphale said. “He’s known for some time. We never spoke of it, of course. But he knew, yes.”

“Ah, well. I was wondering.” Gabriel helped the Principality to his feet and laid a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Zoar, then?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Aziraphale started north, and Gabriel took off for Heaven. After assignments like this one, he stayed in his office, in case someone came by. Sandalphon did, with his report.

“Can’t wait for the next one!” he burbled, excitedly, as he handed the slim stack of paperwork to Gabriel.

Gabriel managed a smile and a wave. He went over Sandalphon’s report and made three spelling corrections, one punctuation correction, and deleted most of a paragraph about the dinner conversation because it was irrelevant to the assignment.

His own paperwork was exhausting. It was very exacting, pedantic, and dull. Expenditures of miracles, expected casualties, no survivors. In triplicate.

Meanwhile, he couldn’t get the smell of Sodom’s smoke out of his nose. His robes felt unclean, in spite of the miracle that he’d used on them. The smell was a phantom; he knew that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Bible scholars have very compelling arguments that Sodom was NOT destroyed for being Too AWESOMELY Gay To Survive. There are many uses of "to know" in the Bible, and most of them are not carnal in nature. Popular (non-gay hating) Biblical scholarship says that the citizens wanted to question (think CIA interrogation techniques) the strangers. I read several opinions on this chapter of Genesis that compellingly argue that Sodom's main sin was inhospitality.
> 
> Cool story bro, but we're using the King I'm-SOOOOO-Straight-Look-At-This-Gay-Hating-Bible-That-I-Had-Translated-Because-I'm-Super-Straight-The-Way-That-I-Never-Married-And-Fucked-Dudes-My-WHOOOOOOLE-Life James Version of the Bible. Because Pratchett and Gaiman were raised in England. Home of the Anglican Church. Which uses the KJV Bible.


	21. Sportsmanship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel returns home, in need of a good meal, a good tussle, and a good fuck. In that order. His Prince provides.

Prince Beelzebub’s Garden, Florida Keys, After Work

* * *

Gabriel yawned and stretched, arms and wings, then put the last signature on the last form. He walked it to Metatron’s office. Exchanged pleasantries, dropped off his paperwork and Sandalphon’s, exchanged farewells.

He didn’t pass anybody of importance on his way to the observation deck. Heaven followed the sun, and now, it was over the open ocean. Plenty of clouds to hide in. He chose one and dove for it.

His lightning did the rest, carrying him safely home. The moon was high over him, a sickle smiling down on him. Gabriel sank into the familiar sand and waited.

His Prince did not keep him waiting long. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then they slipped down into his lap, facing him. Their lips found his, a chaste kiss, a welcome home.

“And?” they asked.

“Do I still smell like smoke?” he asked, miserably.

They sniffed at him and shook their head. “Let me try zzomething.”

His demon traced their thin, long fingers around his eyes, from the bridge of his nose, up and around. He felt something in his face move, and then he started to sneeze. Prince Beelzebub produced a handkerchief.

“Blow it out,” they said. “You had zzoot in your zzinuzzezz.”

Gabriel did. After a few good honks, he handed the soggy cloth back to his Prince who cleaned it. He could smell the sea, and the green scent of his demon. He felt better.

“Lucifer showed up?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“Yezz. He had my azzignment.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Gabriel kissed them again, enjoying the sweetness of their breath and the way that they rocked on him when he opened their mouth with his. When he entered them with his tongue the way that he planned to enter them, later, with fingers and cock.

His sleeping digestive tract woke up. His stomach didn’t growl; it just began to chew on his spine.

“You’re hungry,” Prince Beelzebub said, sliding out of his lap and offering a hand. “Dinner’zz waiting for you.”

They walked back to the little stone house and his Prince set stew in a trencher of thick bread in front of him. Chilled fruit and cheese sat on a plate between them, and they drank lemon water, sweetened with honey.

The stew was goat and barley and leek. The bread was still warm from the fire, and the fruit was tart melon and cherries. It tasted like home, and he was grateful for the mundane pleasure of it. They didn’t speak, just ate in a companionable silence. Gabriel wasn’t ready to start talking about Sodom, not quite.

Jonquils and white roses scented the air from their ceramic vase. Sprays of lavender thrust up like spears amongst little sprays of baby’s breath. Prince Beelzebub had refreshed the flowers.

The whole house was somehow cleaner than when he left, but his sweet Prince tended to clean when they were nervous. Their fear for him radiated in polished wood and stone. In shining glass and dazzling linens. In the big Murphy bed already folded out and waiting for them.

Gabriel finished the last of the bread. His demon used their nearly limitless supply of miracles to clean up.

They took him by the hand, and they were both miraculously nude by the time that they reached the bed. He knew that his robes hung in his wardrobe, clean and ready for the next time he needed them.

Prince Beelzebub followed him onto the bed, and draped themself over him when he collapsed into the feather pillows. They kissed him on the only mark that they let him keep whenever he was called to God’s service. The first mark.

He reached for them, but they were faster. “No,” they said, grabbing his hands and forcing them over his head. “Unlezz you want a fight.”

Their voice was provocative, and Gabriel found that he did want a fight. He rolled, but the demon was up and off of him, coiled like a serpent in the corner of the bed. Gabriel regarded them, rolling over on all fours and preparing to attack.

“Come then,” they said, grinning. Their eyes glinted with excitement. He could smell them, their green scent and the musk of their sex. “Take me, if you can.”

“Not exactly sporting,” he said, leaning up and waving a hand at his barren crotch.

They crawled to him. Slowly, achingly slowly. When they did reach him, their nimble fingers did not reach for his groin. Instead, his demon grabbed his hips and lowered their lips to the place where his Effort ought to be. They kissed him, teasing the sensitive skin with lips and teeth and tongue.

“You’re cruel...” Gabriel groaned as his Prince nibbled at the delicate flesh over his hipbones. “This is definitely NOT sporting.”

They snickered softly, and Gabriel felt their fingers begin to mold his flesh. They returned his Effort to him.

Prince Beelzebub looked up at him, holding his cock in one hand, presenting their work for his inspection. Gabriel reached down, stroking their hair. They closed their eyes, their whole body relaxing under his fingers.

That’s what he was waiting for. He tightened his fingers in their hair, and pulled himself back before they could do something painful to his newly formed Effort. They yelped, and then they laughed.

“What happened to zzportzzmanship?” Their eyes were still sparling mischief.

He laughed, a jovial laugh. “Oh, fuck sportsmanship.”

Gabriel forced them down to the mattress. He landed on top of them, between their legs. They cried out, but he was already on them.

Prince Beelzebub was agile and nimble. Fast and accurate. Gabriel had brute strength on his side, and used it. In close quarters, unless they used miracles, he had the advantage over his demon. Neither of them ever used miracles for a light tussle.

He could easily fit both of their tiny wrists in his hand, and now he had them pinned. He looked down at them. Their breath came in hitches, and a wild, trembling anticipation brightened their eyes and flushed their face and chest.

The moonlight dusted their very fair skin. They’d had to heal themselves for their adventure in Sodom. All of the marks that he’d left on them were gone. All of them.

Time to make some new ones.

“Giving up already?” he asked as he lowered his mouth to their neck.

“Why not? You’re being zzo nizze to me...” They sucked a breath in through their teeth as Gabriel began worrying their flesh in earnest. “Pleazze, my angel. Yezz...More...”

He never denied them anything. His free hand went to one breast, squeezing the flesh, grabbing the nipple. Twisting hard. They cried out.

“Did that hurt?” he asked, gentle mockery in his voice.

They lifted their face to his, kissing the blood from his lips, then deepening the kiss. Opening his mouth with their own, tongue slipping in his mouth. A gentle kiss, which softened him. His mistake.

His Prince pulled their wrists free and rolled away from him, laughing. “Catch me, Archangel.”

Like that, they were out of the house and into the night. Gabriel followed, gamely. His eyes adjusted to the dim light of the torches quickly, but they were already hidden. He looked down, following the trail of bare footprints through the trees, out to the beach. He looked out to the ocean, trying to locate the demon among the black waves. Too late, he realized that the footprints stopped at the edge of the path.

He heard a rustle above him, and then they were upon him. The demon had climbed a tree and (literally) got the drop on him. He tried to shake them from him, but they wrapped their arms around his neck and held fast. He flailed, whipping around and then falling back into the sand.

They yelped, but clung tighter. Without miracles, Gabriel felt his lungs burning for air. He lifted them both out of the sand and slammed himself back. His demon made a very satisfying, “Oof!” and released him. He whipped around, but they slipped out from under him and were on their feet again.

“You can do better than thizz,” they said. Their tone was coaxing, teasing. Prince Beelzebub turned their back on him, looking over their shoulder. “Come on.”

Gabriel was up and out of the sand. He tried to grab them up in a bearhug. They ducked down, as he knew they would, so he struck out with a knee. But they were quicker, rolling away from him. Then they were back up and laughing at him.

Facing him, they opened their arms to him. “Come to me,” they said. They were smiling, and their smile was beatific. “Come to me, my love.”

So many years later, and the air still thinned around those six letters. He went to them, like a child seeking comfort against the darkness. They collected him when he crumbled to his knees, so like Lot’s wife. His tears fell hot and fast on their belly. They stroked his hair.

“My poor, zzweet angel,” Prince Beelzebub murmured.

They slipped down into the sand beside him, wrapping their arms around his shoulders. He felt their miracle cleaning the sand from him. A thick blanket appeared beneath him, and they helped him lower himself to it.

Their kisses fell like rain on his face and shoulders, then lower, to his chest and belly. Lower still, to the Effort that waited, ready for them.

The demon slipped between his legs and settled themself there, running gentle fingers over his inner thighs. Up to the sensitive flesh of his lower belly, and then sweeping around the base of his Effort.

Lips and tongue followed their fingers, teasing him from base to tip. They slipped their tongue under his foreskin, teasing a pearly goldish drop from him before mouthing over his cockhead.

He watched himself disappear into their mouth. Just the head, their clever tongue swirling the flesh their. The heat of their mouth was overwhelming. Their hand ran up and down his shaft as they suckled at him hard. They slipped their hand all the way down, following with their mouth.

Gabriel gasped as he felt their throat loosen around him. Their lips brushed the base of him.

It only took a few strokes like that. He was worked up from the chase, from his day. He wanted release, and his Prince gave that to him. He clung to the blanket and cried out as he jetted into them.

They slowed, but didn’t stop. Still stroking him gently with mouth and hands. He did not lose any rigidity, but he was used to that now. They kept working his cock as one finger, miraculously slick, opened him.

“Yes,” he sighed, as they slipped a second finger inside and began to loosen the muscles there. “Sweet Beelzebub...”

He felt himself rising again. It felt like flight, a light feeling in his stomach, something lifting him higher and higher with each stroke from his demon’s fingers. And he felt the third finger enter him, felt himself relax around their fingers.

They released him from their mouth, but not their hand, slipped their fingers out of him and shouldered his knees.

Prince Beelzebub always hesitated there, gently nudging him with the tip of their cock. Waiting for his permission before they entered him like that.

He let them linger, enjoying the way that they stroked him with themself. Enjoying, too, making them wait. The fierceness earlier had been replaced by their gentle, constant concern. He pushed against them, but they pulled back.

“Are you zztill being petulant?” they asked, but there was no challenge in their tone. They nudged him. “You have to invite me inzzide, my love.”

“Fuck me,” he said. And Gabriel heard that his voice had lost its edge and its playfulness. All that was left was his need.

His Prince slipped inside him, and did as he asked.

The ocean nearby lapped at the shore, and the sound reminded Gabriel that water could turn huge boulders into sand. This is what his Prince could do to him. Agile little demon, born from the place where air and water kiss, powerful in their persistence. They slammed into him, as unrelenting as the ocean. And just as formidable.

The ocean birthed the great swirling storms of the summer. In this way, his Prince birthed their own storms. Breaking inside him and over him. Intense climaxes, one after another, washed over him. His demon left him shipwrecked, broken and weak, his cries fading to whispers as his pleasure rose and crested and crested and crested.

The sun lingered at the horizon when Prince Beelzebub miracled Gabriel to be as light as one of his own pinfeathers and carried him to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit early for an update, and here I am with two chapters! I'm going to be having my wisdom tooth yanked on the fifteenth. This is just in case there are complications that keep me from my once-a-week updating schedule. Hope to have another chapter up by the 21st-22nd.
> 
> We get to see Isaac's near-death experience. Poor Gabriel.


	22. Ba'al Zebub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another fourteen years of peace and quiet in Florida, punctuated by the establishment of the cults of Ba'al/Ba'al Zebub in Ekron. After a festival worshipping Prince Beelzebub as a god, Gabriel worships his Prince in his own way.

Settlement of Ekron, Lands of Canaan, Late Summer, 2834 BCE

* * *

Another fourteen years of peace. Fourteen years of paperwork--so much more since humans had started developing written legal codes. Fourteen years of the most delightful field trips, what with the establishments of various cults to Prince Beelzebub.

Gabriel’s Prince’s hand had guided the development of a number of communities. Gentle places that worshipped Ba’al or Ba’al Zebub, a kindly god of fertility, healing, rain, and morning dew.

Women’s wisdom was respected in these green, lovely lands. The women of Ba’al ruled in tribunals. Men had limited power here, and the fecund lands of Ekron prospered. The people thusly prospered.

Any cruel men, men who hit women and children--and every rapist--they were all castrated, then fatted and slaughtered to provide meat for the rest of the village. The slaughters happened at the temples, overseen by priestesses and performed by the man-butchers, on the shortest day and the shortest night. Both days marked the beginning of seasonal religious ceremonies, finishing with a huge feast in the name of Ba’al.

It did not shame Gabriel to say that he knew the taste of man-flesh. It was delicious, the way that the Ba’ali prepared it. With honey and salt and herbs, cooked over an open fire.

Every village kept a hive of bees, and they whispered to Prince Beelzebub of the comings and goings of the humans who cared for them.

Gabriel walked with them through the valleys that they maintained, watching from the wing realm as his sweet Prince blessed crops and healed children. Their raiments, white and blue, blew in the fragrant breezes of their lands. Their hair, loose and lovely, caught the sunlight and shattered it in dark rainbows. They were crowned and wreathed by their priestesses whenever they visited. Their head dripped in flowers in the springtime and summer. In the autumn, the people wove crowns of leaves, festooned with nuts. And in wintertime, the Prince wore evergreen branches and holly berries, glistening like drops of blood.

The lands of Ba’al smelled of good, loamy soil. Of animals and sweetgrass. The waters were pure, not by miracle, but by constant careful maintenance (keeping the animals downstream, for example) and mundane filtration systems. The people were sturdy and lived long lives. Ba’al’s people prospered. Their crops and animals flourished.

Fourteen years, it had been. Attending to paperwork and watching Ba’al’s cults propagate and grow. It was now the late summer, and the first harvest called for a festival. Ba’al themself was in attendance. So was Gabriel, but he stayed hidden.

As he always did.

Gabriel wondered what the world would be like if everyone worshipped Ba’al. If everyone had a god as sweet as the one that he worshipped. He watched his demon kneel before a sleeping child; a little girl who had been kicked by a mule.

The little girl, who had been in a coma for seven days, opened her eyes and laughed. Her parents wept, but Gabriel could feel their joy.

At the altar, the people of Ba’al offered their sweetest fruits. Prince Beelzebub ate from the altar, and evaluated the crops. In this way, the people of Ba’al learned horticulture. They only presented their lord with their finest. The demon made sure that the best seeds were planted, and culled the worst.

In a few months, they would be doing the same for the animals. After the feast, the mortals took up their instruments and played songs of worship. The demon sang along, their voice light and melodious. They danced the circle dance with their mortals. Even the little children joined in.

The mortals broke out the mead and wine, and the entire valley rang with song and mirth.

Gabriel partook where he could. His demon passed morsels of food and goblets of drink to him, as he sat by their feet, under the high table. Hidden in the wing realm, he saw everything and the mortals never knew that he was there. His Prince knew his favorites, and made sure that he feasted with the rest.

They both took their leave of the mortals as the morning mists began to rise. They slipped into the wing realm.

“They love you,” he said.

“They do,” his Prince replied. “I wonder how God’zz going to punish them for it?”

“Oh, you’re deep in your cups, aren’t you?”

“No. Yezz. Maybe?” They pressed a clay goblet into Gabriel’s hands. “One for the road?”

Gabriel was not a huge fan of alcohol, though his demon had a great appreciation of it. When he did drink, he preferred the salty beers that came out of the Jordan Valley.

He did like mead, but usually only the mead that his demon brewed. The last time he’d tried human mead, it tasted sticky sweet, with a terrible metallic, bitter aftertaste.

The mead brewed by the Ba’ali was heady and sweet. It went down smooth, but lit a fire in Gabriel’s belly.

“Not as good as yours,” he said, and drained the rest of it.

“Clozze, though. The humanzz learn and improve.”

Gabriel wrapped an arm around Prince Beelzebub to steady them, and started walking away from the humans. A flash of silvery violet carried them to the clouds, and then back to their garden.

It had been morning at the Canaanite settlement. In Ekron.

In Florida, it was night. Safe, back in the glass house, Gabriel worshipped Ba’al Zebub in his own way. They filled the copper tub with hot water and sweet powders, and Gabriel lifted them into it. They were still rather drunk. Gabriel supported them and cleaned his demon’s body with hot water, ash, and oil.

Though Prince Beelzebub was eager for him, Gabriel did not take them in the bath. Instead, after they were clean, Gabriel laid his demon on their belly on a sheet of soft cotton beside the great copper tub.

He rubbed sweet scented oils, the ones that smelled so strongly of all the green and growing things, into their bath-warmed skin. He worked the little knots out of their muscles, starting from their shoulders and neck. He rolled the joints until all of the tension fled them. Then he rubbed little circles around their shoulders, neck, and back.

He slipped between their legs, and they raised their ass for him. He pressed them back down, and began to work the long day out of those muscles, too. Gabriel’s fingers traced his little circles deep into the flesh of their thighs, their calves. They let out a deep, guttural moan when he reached their feet. Such tiny things. He could close one easily in his hand. He popped their toes and worked the soft, uncalloused soles. Then the instep and ankle and heel.

He flipped them over, and was not surprised to see that his hard work had left his demon erect, with a wet and spreading stain on the cotton sheet. Gabriel worked his way up from their toes, carefully working their shins, then their thighs. He ran teasing fingers over his Prince’s engorged Efforts, but did not linger. Instead, he went to their chest, to oil the small breasts that swelled at his touch. To tease the nipples until his demon began to make a low, droning buzz.

He spent a couple of hours in worship, rubbing every part of them. Until they’d lost all resistance, and their body was floppy. Until their skin shone in the golden lamplight like honeycomb. Until they whimpered their need to him, begging Gabriel to bring his skilled touch to their Effort.

_That_ wasn’t floppy. Not in the least.

Gabriel spread their legs and settled himself between them, thighs under their knees, ankles supporting their shoulders and neck. Every part of his sweet Prince was within easy reach of him. He swept his fingertips from their collarbone down the outside of their breasts, over their belly and along their inner thighs. They sighed. The spreading stain of blackish fluid that had slipped out of the Prince was now a pool.

“You’re soaked,” he said, teasing their outer labia with gentle curious fingers.

“I should be...You zzpent the lazzt two hourzz touching me all over...”

“Almost all over, huh? I missed a spot...or two.”

He oiled two fingers and slipped them over their swollen lips, peeling the outer lips away from the inner ones. Like separating the layers of petals from a wild rose.

His Prince’s head dropped back, their whole body easing into his touch, encouraging him to continue his gentle work. Gabriel traced the opening that Prince Beelzebub offered him.

Then, he slipped deep inside them.

“Oh!” they cried out. “Yezz, you mizzed a zzpot.”

“Or two,” Gabriel agreed, sliding an oiled hand over their cock.

Prince Beelzebub gathered handfuls of the cotton beneath them. “Yezz...” they sighed. “Or two.”

Gabriel stroked their Effort like an obedient pet. Sliding back and forth, in no hurry to bring them to climax. His other fingers began tracing the wrinkles and folds of the flesh inside. They were so warm down there, and the musk of them wafted up with the sweet scent of the oil. He massaged them inside as he had massaged them outside, in small slow circles. He worked methodically.

He didn’t plan to miss anymore spots.

Prince Beelzebub didn’t hurry him. Didn’t try to force him deeper. No, he’d already taken any fight they might’ve had out of them. Instead, they whimpered his name.

They pleaded with just one word.

Seventy-three languages, counting the divine tongue, and he’d left them with just one word. Tears rolled down their cheeks. Gabriel liked them like this. Lush and sweet in their need.

He closed his hand around their cock and began to stroke them. They lifted themself up into his touch, head drooping backwards and hands clenching the sheet beneath them. They cried out as they thrust up. Gabriel kept up with their movements. He stayed inside them as they tried to fuck his hand. He allowed them a few good strokes before he pulled both hands back.

Prince Beelzebub released the sheet and lifted their head to meet his eyes. There was confusion on their face. Gabriel smiled down at them, slipped out from underneath them, and gently rolled them over onto their stomach.

His Prince lifted themself on hand and knees and slipped one hand between their legs. Wordlessly, they spread their lips for him, sweet little mouth opening and drooling for his cock. They watched him over their left shoulder, lips parted over their teeth, panting slightly, eyes glazed in the lamplight.

He didn’t need another invitation. He guided himself inside them, enjoying the way that their Effort seemed to mold against his own. He grabbed their hips as they braced themself against the floor. Still, he went slowly, not sparing a hand to reach around. Just using his cock, slipping nearly out of them and then back inside. Slow, steady, and full of tenderness.

Prince Beelzebub started sobbing. Their last word was gone, and all they had left was their tears.

Gabriel wanted this moment. Buried deep inside them, when they were incoherent with need, and their whole corporation was warm and floppy from his earlier ministrations. Slick with oil and soaked with desire, this is what he wanted. He drove into them. Harder now, and faster.

They began to groan and buzz as he sped up. He slipped a hand around their waist and encircled his Prince, fucking them into his hand.

Gabriel felt himself building, felt that sweet pain growing at the base of his spine. He slowed down. Lengthening his strokes, prolonging their coupling. Prince Beelzebub panted weakly as he fucked them.

The climax was coming for both of them, even as slowly as Gabriel was moving. He let his own need drive him. And now, he moved faster. Slamming into his Prince, harder and harder.

They cried out when they came, and Gabriel’s climax took him a few strokes later.

He did not stop. He did not need to. His cock remained stern, and his demon needed more.

With the assistance of a few infernal miracles, Gabriel managed to worship his god, his sweet Prince, for the next several hours. He carried them to bed after he’d fucked them into unconsciousness.

The next morning, he was woken at the dawn by something landing inside his satchel. It sounded different from his usual paperwork, so he peeled himself away from his sleeping demon.

He fished around in the satchel beside the bed. A scroll waited on the top. It bore the wax seal of Elohim.

It was his next Earth mission, and it looked to be the most pointlessly hurtful one yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cults of Ba'al/Ba'al Zebub become very important later. They are Biblical Canon. 
> 
> I wrote this before I hurt myself. (I'm an old. You can hurt yourself by sleeping wrong, after a certain point.) 
> 
> It's my last update for a while. Radial neuropathy is not fun. I can still type out a little, obviously. So I'm probably going to spend the next six weeks editing for grammar, spelling, punctuation.
> 
> (If you ever need inspiration, I highly recommend doing something to yourself that is so awful that you cannot physically write. I'm being sarcastic, but I've suddenly got IDEAS and no outlet.)


	23. The Miracle of Isaac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraham is told by God to sacrifice his son. Gabriel is sent with a message for father and son.

The Land of Moriah, 2834 BCE

* * *

Still staring at the letter in his hands, Gabriel felt the soft weight of his demon as they draped themselves over his shoulders. “Earth mizzion?” they asked, their tongue still thick with sleep.

He knew they’d already read God’s missive. He shoved it back into his satchel. “Not yet.”

Gabriel pulled his Prince onto his lap and kissed them. Their hand slipped down to his Effort and their own.

Their lovemaking was a desperate thing, as it always was when Gabriel was being sent on an errand. The demon rode him furiously, spending their rage at an enemy that they could neither see nor touch. He drove deeper inside, with tongue and cock, wringing every sensation that he could from his flesh, from theirs.

He rolled, burying his face in the sweet skin of their neck. Kissing the salt from their skin. On his knees, he slipped inside them. Slowly now.

“More,” they breathed. “More, my love. Pleazze...”

He obeyed. Long, slow strokes. They reached down for their own cock, impatient. Gabriel snagged their wrist and kissed the top of their hand.

“No,” he said, gathering up their other wrist and holding them still, above Prince Beelzebub’s head. “Like this.”

He worked them to climax like that, using nothing but his cock and his persistence. They wrapped their legs around him, trying desperately to force some contact, some friction, for their needy cock. Gabriel denied them. The longer he built them up, the sweeter it would be.

The orgasm started deep inside them, and he rode it out. If he didn’t have centuries of experience at this, he could have lost himself in it. In the sensation.

But he did have centuries of experience. He didn’t spill until his Prince did, ropes of thick, black seed across their own belly. And Gabriel let himself go, shooting deep inside.

Rain, soft spring rain, pattered the glass outside. Gabriel felt his tears slip from his eyes and fall to the skin of his gentle Prince, his sweet demon.

They lifted themself from the sheets, as best they could, to kiss him. They opened his mouth with theirs, slipping their tongue between his teeth, stroking him, teasing him.

Rousing him again.

They lingered in his memory, on his tongue and in his nose and on his skin and in his blood and bone as he watched Abraham and Isaac build their low altar, in the noon sun of Moriah.

Finally they finished it.

Snowy haired Abraham, shivered in front of the altar where his bound son waited, weeping.

“Father,” the boy whimpered, through a bloody mouth. He’d fought when he realized his father’s intentions, a detail that none of the stories would remember. “Father, no...”

“God commands,” Abraham whispered, the knife still in his hands.

Slender Isaac, a mirror of his father when he’d prayed in front of the forces of King Nimrod. Gabriel, years later, would remember the way the sun painted gold across the fine dusting of hair across Isaac’s upper lip, the way his sweat pooled in his belly button as he struggled fruitlessly against his father’s ropes.

The humans got the whole scene wrong, of course. When they started painting the story, Isaac looked less like a frightened child and more like the muscled men who sold themselves to rich patricians for a few coins. Centuries later, Gabriel would see those paintings, of lily-skinned young men bound on altars, and think of the terror in Isaac’s wide eyes. The shimmer of gold across his upper lip. The pool of frightened sweat in his navel.

Gabriel laid a gentle hand on Abraham’s shoulder. “Behold,” he said, gently. “God is pleased with you. Do not harm the boy. You were willing to give your only son, your beloved son, to God. He sees you, and He is pleased. Release the boy. Behold, a ram.”

The ram waited, caught in a thorny thicket. It should not be there, a ritually perfect beast, held but uncut by thorns. A miracle of God.

A miracle of Prince Beelzebub. For it was a ram from the Valley of Ekron.

Abraham cut his son loose, and they went to the ram. Father and son pulled it from the thorny thicket that imprisoned it, bound it in rope, sliced its throat, and burned it on the altar.

Abraham pulled his son to him and kissed his head. Abraham now knew the character of his God. Isaac allowed his father’s touch and affection, but something had changed in him. The way that the boy lowered his eyes, Gabriel saw that he was a broken beast. A well-shaped tool. Isaac, most unfortunately, knew the nature of his father and his father’s God.

“God rewards your faith,” Gabriel said. “Your seed shall be multiplied as the stars in the sky, as the grains of sand on Earth. Your children’s children shall make up the great nation of the faithful. You are blessed, Abraham, for your trust in the Almighty.”

“Thank you, my old friend,” Abraham said, tearing his eyes away from the smoke that curled up towards Heaven. “This mountain is named Jehovahjireh.”

“So be it. God be with you, Abraham,” the Archangel said. _As if you have a choice..._

“Farewell, angel,” Abraham returned.

Gabriel called the lightning, and rode it up to Heaven. Paperwork awaited, and a debriefing. No doubt.

Hours passed.

In the sterile confines of his office, Gabriel waited. He’d submitted his paperwork. He drummed his fingers on his desk. Waiting. The sun moved across the sky, but Gabriel’s eyes never left the door.

An angel that he didn’t recognize, a scribe, told him that Metatron was pleased with his work. There was no need for a debriefing.

_Finally_.

Gabriel snuck out in his usual fashion. Flying from the observation deck. Really, they would have to come up with something better, and soon. Slamming to the ground in front of the humans, or appearing in a flash of lightning was rather impressive, if heavy-handed. Gabriel wondered if they were ever going to come up with something more subtle.

The lightning took him to Florida, to his gentle demon. They waited for him on the beach, well away from the surf.

“My love,” they said, wrapping their arms around him. Climbing him, as they did. “How wazz it?”

“Abraham did as Elohim expected.”

“And Izzac?”

“He knows who his father is now,” Gabriel said. “And who Elohim is, too.”

"Elohim wanted them to know that She will not call for the blood of children," Prince Beelzebub said. "At leazzt, not upon altarzz. I zzuppozze She'll still kill azz needed with floodzz and zzteel. And plaguezz."

Gabriel sighed heavily. He felt them start working the knots out of his shoulders.

“Poor zzweet angel. I’m going to feed you, bathe you, and clean your wingzz.”

“Sounds divine...and after?”

“I think I’ll fuck you to zzleep.”

“Oh, praise to Ba’al Zebub,” he said, kissing them deeply. He took tongue and breath and hungered for more. They met his passion.

Unfortunately, his very empty stomach snarled for something more filling than kisses.

“Come on, zzweet angel. Elohim zztole our day, but thizz night izz ourzz.”

They lowered themself to the sand and took Gabriel by the hand. He followed them to the stone house, which smelled of stew and the soapy smell of nervous cleaning by his sweet Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a short chapter, but really, there's not much to say about Abraham and Isaac.
> 
> If y'all like what I'm doing here, you need to let me know. I'm focusing more on one-shots and Silence of the Flies because I'm getting a lot more love on those. If there's no comments and kudos, I assume you don't like what I'm doing. So I work on something else.
> 
> Even if it's just a note to say that you read it and you like it, that tells me to keep at it.
> 
> If you're not following my other work, I'm not having steady updates because (besides the teeth--which healed, and the arm--which hasn't) my heart did a thing. I've had a benign murmur since birth. It may not be benign anymore.
> 
> Fun times, y'all.


	24. The Song of Seeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Beelzebub journeys to the desert of Paran to be with Ishmael and his family as they say goodbye to Hagar. Gabriel accompanies them, and together, they encounter one of their siblings.

Prince Beelzebub's Garden, Florida Keys, Late Wet Season, 2831 BCE

* * *

Their time passed in the garden and in the valley of Ekron, the cycling of seasons, wet and dry. Plants rising, green and glorious, out of a tiny mound of earth inside an eggshell. Moving the fragile infants to the soldier rows outside, once they’d matured enough. Animals born in the springtime, slaughtered in the autumn. Vegetables and fruits harvested in season, and laid aside in larder or in cellar, in big barrels or sacks.

Honey pressed from the comb, and boiled clean. Thick taffy stretched from some of it. More of it set aside to ferment.

Practice with sticks or swords, not daily, but almost. They laughed together as they clashed beneath the sheltering arms of the great oak tree that they’d planted together not long after Gabriel had arrived. Now, it sheltered them as they sparred.

They improved together. Precision and speed against strength and endurance.

Every month, Prince Beelzebub disappeared for a meeting with Dagon over the adventures of Crowley. Gabriel left as necessary for meetings, briefings, and any other duties that Heaven required.

Nobody in Heaven knew (or nobody cared).

They danced in the rain, feet squishing mud through toes. Learning the new steps that the humans came up with, and exploring the ones that they knew the names for, that had been smashed into their heads with all the other words.

Gabriel liked to dance. Liked the flash of sun through the clouds, dazzling across his demon’s wings. His gentle Prince.

Three years after Abraham named the mountain in Moriah, he woke to Prince Beelzebub clattering around the hearth. Three baskets waited on the trestle table. Gabriel sat up, and his confusion must have been evident on his face.

“Hagar,” Prince Beelzebub said. The name was tender on their tongue. “Dagon zzent me a mezzage. It’zz...zzoon.”

Gabriel nodded. “Do you need any help?”

Prince Beelzebub nodded, and Gabriel helped them wrap cheeses in soft, white cloths. To pack apples and dates, citrus and meat. A cask of fine mead, and jars of honey. Bolts of silks, bought at market. A basket of shrunken, sleeping goats.

Gifts for Ishmael.

His prince brought flowers from the garden and wove them into crowns with their nimble fingers. Flowers for Hagar. For her funeral.

Resin incense, cut into cubes, and fine soaps to wash her body. Linens to wrap her in. These, too, were packed away.

“Are you coming with me?” Prince Beelzebub asked.

“If I may,” Gabriel replied.

“Yezz. Pleazze.”

Gabriel knew that it was Raphael who was sent after Hagar in the desert, to turn her back to Abraham. Raphael again who gave her water and a place to settle when she was finally cast out of Abraham’s family. Gabriel had no right to her deathbed.

Neither did Prince Beelzbub.

But his Prince had felt a kinship with the human woman, a deep respect. They’d sent animals to her, without God noticing or caring. Planted some trees for her and Ishmael. Watched over them in the limited way that they could.

Hagar was no Daughter of Lilith, but the brutal way that she was treated by Abraham pained the little Prince. After all, they’d helped save Abraham--and his behavior as an adult pained the demon.

Prince Beelzebub’s guilt packed baskets for Hagar. Guilt over the small role that they played in the nightmare of her life.

Gabriel helped where he could. Food and flowers. Gifts for Ishmael and his children. The last thing that the demon packed was their wood harp.

They dressed in rich robes of white linen, and tied a blue silk scarf over their hair. Gabriel followed their lead and dressed himself in white.

Laden with baskets and packs of goods, the two of them departed the garden, headed for the desert of Paran.

Lightning struck from an empty sky, and only a small herd of goats was there to witness it. Ishmael’s lands were not fenced, but the goats were trained to stay together. They did not run from the lightning, nor the two strangers who stepped from the blinding light.

Distantly, Gabriel could see a grove of olive trees, and another grove of figs. Far from the trees, the goats, the tents, and everything, two young men worked at digging a hole in the hard clay of the desert. They had dug down to the depth of their hips, and one now rested against his tools, wiping the sweat from his face. His brother, barebacked, drank from a skin.

Two smaller boys stacked stones not far away. For the cairn.

The angel followed the demon past the goats to the tent (bleached leather shining white under the desert sun) between two Joshua trees. Smaller children played in the shade of the trees, content to be out of the tent. Prince Beelzebub passed between them, and Gabriel could feel their blessing shimmer over the toddlers. He blessed them as well, ducking to enter the tent.

It smelled of sweat and sickness. Of soap and clean linen. And the pervasive smell of human excrement that accompanies every sickbed.

The sickbed in question had been laid out in the center of the tent, at the coolest part. All of the flaps were open, to allow the air inside. The morning light, as well. Hagar, small and brown, laid upon thick cushions, attended by her daughter-in-law and her son. Ishmael, the prophesized “wild ass of a man”, the clever archer. He looked so much like his father. He was not a wild ass in this moment. Concern etched lines upon his brow and face.

His wife, a lovely woman with skin like polished olive wood, laid a cloth on Hagar’s head. She was full with child. The old woman reached a hand for her son, missed, and slid her fingers across her daughter-in-law’s full belly.

“They come,” Hagar breathed.

Prince Beelzebub drew their wings from the second realm, unfurling them in the light. The sun fractured in their wings, spilling rainbows across the white walls of the tent.

Ishmael and his wife looked upon the demon, dazzled. Prince Beelzebub bowed to them.

Gabriel did not. His eyes were fixed on the other man in the tent. He leaned against a wooden pole in the corner, and reached a curious hand out to cup a shivering rainbow in front of him. His black hair was wrapped in linen, but his eyes--the deep blue of twilight--gleamed as they flicked over Gabriel and his demon.

Prince Beelzebub rose, and Gabriel reached for them. Pulled them back, into him, and waited. His hand went to the polished hilt of his sword, but he did not draw his blade.

The humans looked concerned.

“Fear not, brother,” Raphael said. “We have no quarrel.”

“We...don’t?”

“No,” Raphael replied, waving the prospect off with one sun-kissed hand. “I’d heard the rumors. If you’ve found the happiness that bloomed for you in the Garden, then I’m happy for you.”

“I’m here to honor Hagar,” Prince Beelzebub said, kneeling to Raphael. “To eazze her pazzing. Teacher, mazzter, allow me. Pleazze.”

“Ba’al Zebub, is it now?” Raphael replied. “You never needed to bow, Remiel.”

“You taught me, and that dezzervezz my rezzpect,” Prince Beelzebub insisted, lowering their head and closing their eyes. “It’zz Izzrafil now, izzn’t it?”

Gabriel remembered hearing that. The news came from Dagon, and his Prince had told him.

“It is,” Israfil said.

“How do you recognizze me, mazzter? The otherzz...have forgotten me.”

“I know not the answer. I forgot no one and nothing.” Israfil shrugged. He stepped over to his siblings and pulled Gabriel’s hand away from his sword. His look was reproachful, and yet, bemused. All at once. “Jibril, stop.” He turned his twilight gaze to the demon. “Remiel, your wings, sweet sibling. They are so lovely. How did this come to be?”

“The old onezz...atrophied and dropped off. Thezze grew in their place,” Prince Beelzebub said.

Israfil pulled the demon forward, away from Gabriel, and Prince Beelzebub stepped forward gamely. Israfil ran a curious, reverent hand over the membraneous left wing, then the right.

The demon allowed his touch, but shivered.

“Marvelous,” Israfil said, and his voice was full of wonder. “Truly marvelous.”

“They’re...zzenzzitive.”

“The wings?”

“Not really. I can’t feel anything there, but at the jointzz...I can feel anything that movezz acrozz the wingzz.”

“The buzzing. That’s new.”

Prince Beelzebub nodded. “I believe it’zz a punishment.”

Israfil laid a companionable hand on the demon’s shoulder, shooting a pointed and amused gaze at Gabriel. Gabriel realized that his face must have betrayed him. He did not like anyone that close to his demon. Least of all Israfil, the one his demon called master.

“Sweet little one, I’ll not stop you from your work,” he said, squatting down to be eye-to-eye with Prince Beelzebub. “Your work always began at the place where my work ended. Strange that you still do this. Are you not Fallen?”

“Are they not Fallen?” the demon replied, head held high, shoulders squared. “Inzzomuch azz humanzz can Fall.”

“God still watches over them.”

“Then, if She hazz any objectionzz, She may voizze them.”

Israfil laughed. It was an affectionate sound, full of his warmth and care. He cupped Prince Beelzebub’s face and ran a thumb over their cheek. “You always have done exactly as you will. You will not be stopped. I do not envy you, Gabriel. This one is somehow more headstrong than me.”

Gabriel smiled at his brother, a tight, rictus grin. He was still very uncomfortable with Israfil’s proximity, and his ease with the demon Prince.

Prince Beelzebub nodded to their teacher, bowed slightly, and stepped over to the confused humans. They sat on their knees across from Ishamel and his wife. Smoothed their linens with an elegant sweep of hands, then clasped their hands in their lap.

“I have come to eazze your passing, Hagar,” Prince Beelzebub said, bowing slightly before lowering their baskets and packs to the rug beneath Hagar. “I am the one that the men of Ekron call Ba’al Zzebub.”

“You are not of my God,” Hagar said. “I rebuke you. You are a demon.”

“I am a demon,” Prince Beelzebub said. “But I wazz an angel. God made me, and I am here in your zzervice.”

“Mother,” Ishmael said, softly. “Let her help you.”

“I will not die tainted by a demon,” Hagar said. “Leave us.”

“If that izz your wish,” Prince Beelzebub said. “But, behold my mazzter. Your angel, Izzrafil.”

“They know arts that I am not allowed,” Israfil said. “They mean no harm. Jibril would not be escorting them if they intended mischief.”

The humans looked to Gabriel, whose wings slipped easily from the second realm. “They want to help,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it.

The humans softened.

“Can you help my mother?”

“I can. She diezz zzoon, and I can eazze her wearinezz.”

“Please, then. Mother, please.”

“I cannot taint you, Hagar,” Prince Beelzebub said. This was not a lie, Gabriel knew. Hagar would pass, not to Heaven nor Hell, but to whatever realm awaited the Daughters of Eve after they died. “I can zzoothe your zzuffering. I have herbzz and zzome magic to help.”

“Israfil...”

“You are beyond my help, sweet lady,” Israfil said.

Hagar moaned softly. It was a pitiable sound. “If our angel speaks for you, then do what you can for me.”

Prince Beelzebub nodded. They began to work with quick, busy hands. The smell of shit lifted from the tent as they used a miracle to clean the woman.

A small pot of herbed honey appeared in the Prince’s hands, and a stream of golden fluid flowed easily from the pot, up and into Hagar’s mouth. Past teeth and tongue, down her throat and inside. Tea and broth followed. Prince Beelzebub filled the censers with resin incense and lit them. The smoke filled the tent, sweet smoke rendolent of opium and sandalwood.

The old woman relaxed against her cushions.

Prince Beelzebub handed a basket of meat and cheese to Ishmael. “Here, child. Feed yourzzelf. Your bride. The children.”

Ishmael pulled a hot loaf of bread from the basket. He broke it in half, and handed the bigger piece to his wife. “Thank you, Ba’al Zebub.”

The demon nodded and drew their woodharp from their robes. “Might I play for you, Hagar?”

“Something sweet,” Hagar said with a gentle nod.

Prince Beelzebub nodded, and began to play. The melody was high, light, and lovely. Gabriel recognized it. It was a popular song from Ekron. An old, old song.

“On the firzzt night, a zzeed fell from the zztarzz.

It fell zzo near, zzo near. It came from far.

Izz it the tear of God? Who knowzz, who knowzz?

It opens wide as the wezztern wind blowzz.”

Israfil sidled up to Gabriel, listening as the demon played and sang. “They’re something else, _nu_?”

Gabriel nodded. “They are.”

“On the zzecond night, the children of wind

touched handzz and walked to the end, to the end.

Kizzed a wave and danced the ripplezz of change,

watched the world wake up and arrange, arrange.”

Hagar’s face softened as the gentle song rolled over her. Her tension left her, the pain faded. Her son held her hand, and his wife leaned against him.

“On the third night, the children of the wave

ran acrozz the grazz. Love they gave, they gave.

And more children run, they run. Like the zztarzz,

they shine in the night, winking far, zzo far.”

The children stopped their play to watch from the entrance of the tent, entranced. Their bright eyes danced like Prince Beelzebub’s rainbows, over their parents, their grandmother, the woodharp, and the song.

“On the fourth night, the children zzought the wind

the wezztern wind, who called them to the end.

They cried for the Father they never knew,

and the wind called back, ‘I know you, know you.’”

Hagar was barely breathing. Her chest rose and fell, syncopated. The sluggish breath of a body nearing the end. Nearing its rest.

“On the fifth night, the children zzang the rain

and it fell, it fell. Falling zzeedzz of grain.

More children rizze to zzing the zzong, the zzong.

More ripplezz kizz the earth and roll along.”

Now, the older boys, their task finished, entered the tent. They passed Israfil and Gabriel, with the babies walking along, to settle around their matriarch. Hagar did not open her eyes to acknowledge the children, but Gabriel thought she knew that they were there. They sat and listened.

Their father handed them meat and cheese and bread from his basket. They took the food gratefully and ate.

“On the zzixth night, the children’zz zzong faded

and their Father zzang back, fated, fated.

His voizze broke the rockzz and parted the zzeazz.

He zzang to them, to them. And you and me.”

Hagar’s chest barely moved, and the blood was gone from her cheeks. Her limbs surrendered, one by one. Death creeped up from her feet, moving swiftly. Gabriel wondered if the final verse would reach her.

“On the zzeventh night, the children reached up

with handzz and heartzz open. A cup, a cup

to be filled with their Father’zz love, Hizz love.

His grace fallzz like zzeedzz from above, above.”

The old woman passed, her last breath not a rattle, but a sigh. Prince Beelzebub played on, finishing the song for the living, and making a sweet melody to carry the dead.

“Our Father’zz love He zzendzz, He zzendzz. His love

it fillzz us. His zzeedzz, His zzeedzz, from above.”

They finished the last few chords on the woodharp, and the music faded. The family saw that Hagar had slipped away. The children began to weep, eventually joined by their parents. Prince Beelzebub sighed, put away their woodharp, and stepped around the clot of grief that formed around Hagar’s body. They walked to Gabriel, who wrapped a gentle arm around them.

They buried their small face in Gabriel’s side, hands clenched around his robes. He kissed the top of their head.

“When they are ready,” Prince Beelzbub said. “I brought the zzoapzz and linenzz. Ishmael’zz wife izz in no condition to wash Hagar.”

“I agree,” Israfil said.

The family stayed with Hagar for an hour’s time, praying their death prayers. Prince Beelzebub eventually approached Ishmael.

“Ishmael, shall I bathe her?” Prince Beelzebub asked. “I have brought strong soap and fine linens.”

“Please, Ba’al. My wife...she cannot.”

“Of courzze.”

Prince Beelzebub drew a clay dish from one of their baskets. The woman was already cleaned with miracles. Everything after was about ritual, not utility. The demon filled the bowl with a miracle, and laid a clean cloth in the water. They withdrew a long plank from one of their packs, and laid a length of linen across it.

There was a grace in Prince Beelzebub’s motions, in the sweep of fabric from the dead woman’s skin. The way that they wiped her body with the wet cloth. The gentle closure of eyes and mouth. The care that they showed in redressing her. In wrapping her in her shroud. They lifted her like an infant and laid her on her funeral bier.

They crossed Hagar’s hands over her chest, and dressed the body and bier with flowers. Roses and lilies. Poppies and sweet olive.

Prince Beelzebub laid a gentle kiss on their fingers and pressed them to Hagar’s forehead.

“Goodnight, zzweet lady,” the Prince murmured. “She izz yourzz, Ishmael.”

They rose and allowed the family to approach.

“Your work is perfect, Remiel,” Israfil said. “But even I can feel your guilt. It seems misplaced. Almost as misplaced as HIS jealousy.” Israfil jabbed a thumb at Gabriel. “Ah, but how can I judge you for the things you both do to keep your minds?”

“I zzaved Abram. I pitied him. Abram...Abraham...he did Hagar nothing but harm,” they replied, glumly.

“You did your job for Abraham. Same as the rest of us.” Israfil leaned down, cupping the demon’s cheek and laying a gentle kiss on their forehead. “Calm down, Jibril. I’m saying my farewells, and would be happy to kiss you, too.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “No. Thanks.”

“It’s hard to trust. I understand,” Israfil said. He hugged Gabriel to him, tightly. Gabriel was caught off-guard, and couldn’t resist his brother. “I mean you no harm, Jibril, and never will. As for Remiel? They’re yours and you;re theirs. As well it should be.”

“I fear it will be a long time before we zzee you again, mazzter.”

“I fear you’re right. It was nice though. Wasn’t it?”

Prince Beelzebub smiled, and it was like sunlight bursting through a dreary day. “Yezz, mazzter, it wazz.”

“Take him home before he explodes.” Israfil chuckled, softly, away from the ears of the mourners. “I love you both.”

The demon reached for Israfil’s hand, giving him a squeeze before leading Gabriel out of the tent and into the desert sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wet Season is from late February through early August. Dry Season is the rest of the year. Welcome to subtropical climates.
> 
> Hagar is one of the more obscure figures of the Bible, and Beelzebub would feel so damned guilty about how Abraham treated her.
> 
> Israfil is as important to Islam as Uriel is to Ethiopian Christianity. So, he goes to the people who will eventually bring about Mohammed.
> 
> The song is a riff on "Rem's Song (Sound Life)" from Trigun, which is taken from an ancient song that's a popular skip-rope song in Japan. (It actually appears in a bunch of different media, there.) It's one of the oldest songs we have, so it felt appropriate to start there, and come up with something fitting for this piece.
> 
> Rhyming poetry with meter is HARD. Do not recommend.
> 
> My cardiologist said that I'm fine. My heart did do a thing, but we don't know why. Basically, my heart experienced an incredibly painful hiccup. But I'm mostly okay. Yay for being mostly okay?
> 
> Comments and kudos are totally safe, even if you're self-quarantined!


	25. To Every Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the death of Hagar, Gabriel contemplates the beauty of Ekron and Florida as he and Prince Beelzebub enjoy a time of peace.
> 
> Also, I put some smut here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: smut, non-graphic discussion of cannibalism

Prince Beelzebub's Garden, Florida Keys, Late Wet Season, 2831 BCE

* * *

When they returned to Florida, Gabriel watched as Prince Beelzebub gathered the flowers that they needed, and wove them together. He helped them carry the flowers out (with the beeswax pillars and the white linen cloth) to the heavy flat stone (collected so very long ago from a quarry in the far north of the mainland, sparkling limestone) that they’d once laid out an altar for precious Semiramis.

Gabriel watched as they draped the rock in linen, arranged the flowers, placed the candles and lit them.

He knew how the rest of this evening would go, because even though Hagar had not been of Semiramis’ line (nor any of Lilith’s lines), he knew that Prince Beelzebub would venerate her as they had Semiramis.

Prince Beelzebub would kneel before their altar and watch the flames until they flickered out. They would not move. Their patient gaze at the warm little lights would be their goodbye. Their final prayers for the life of a woman that they felt that they’d failed.

He did not share their grief. He could not. All that he could do was watch. Their hand found his, as the night fell and the little lights on the altar became the only light around them. Gabriel’s silent presence seemed a comfort to them, and he was happy to be able to provide it.

When the hours passed and the candles guttered and died on the linen--when their vigil ended--they took a deep breath and rose from their knees. They dropped his hand after a final squeeze. The damp soil drizzled from their knees, and they brushed the rest of it away with their hands.

Gabriel followed suit, but they were already gathering the corners of their linen cloth. They were already turning the mourning altar into a neat little parcel.

Poppies and roses. Gardenia and jonquil. He watched them tumble over each other and the waxen stumps of candles. He watched Prince Beelzebub’s nimble fingers tie the corners of the cloth together.

Sadly, they gathered the bundle to their chest, and walked to the spreading live oak that the two of them often sparred beneath. Prince Beelzebub was humming, and Gabriel recognized the melody of the Song of Seeds.

The earth parted at the demon’s unspoken command, and they laid their mourning to rest, wrapped in linen and double knotted.

The earth enveloped their memorial to Hagar’s life and Hagar’s pain. They left a bundle of white lilies over the spot, and then turned to Gabriel.

“Shall we break our fazzt, my love?”

He nodded, and walked with them to the little stone cottage. Inside, they ate bread, toasted and topped with soft goat’s cheese. Bowls of chilled fruit and sweet mint accompanied the bread and cheese. Prince Beelzebub made a fine herbal tea for both of them, thickened with cream and sweetened with honey.

After they’d cleared the trestle table, Gabriel and Prince Beelzebub sat beside each other, and began the work of their day. Paperwork from Heaven. Paperwork from Hell. The measure of their hours in the marks they left in ink.

Banal and useless.

When their work was done, they reached for each other. Candles and flowers could only do so much to assuage the pain of loss. Duty helped pass the hours. But the succor that Prince Beelzebub needed was a thing warmer and far dearer than ritual and work.

He followed them into the glass house to wash the dirt of (at this point) the last two days away from both of their skins. There, in the warm flickering light of the lamps, clean and reclining in the copper tub--there his hands explored their body. Their skin was soft and fragrant, warm from the water and from their need. He followed the soft moans and buzzes that they made until he’d roused them both.

Prince Beelzebub faced him as they took him inside of them.

Outside, another wet season storm lashed the windowpanes of the glass house. Wind blew the rain in sideways, turning water into a weapon. Inside the glass house, Prince Beelzebub was the storm enfleshed. Insatiable in their need, riding him through climax after climax. Until the water cooled and the lamps burned low. Until they could no longer, but still they wanted. And so, he pulled them from the tub, laid out one of the larger cotton sheets, and took them there.

Finally, they released him. Finally, they were satisfied. He parted from their body with a trail of soft kisses--kisses that he hoped that they felt as they drifted from consciousness.

Worn and tired from the effort necessary to exhaust the demon, Gabriel wiped his passion from their skin, and theirs from his. He paused, admiring the way that the black and gold looked together on white linen.

He carried his sweet prince, clean and warm, to bed as the storm finished. As the sky wept its last warm tears, and they traced their own slithery paths across the glass.

In the very early hours of morning, before the dawn, he curled himself around the Prince in their bed. Sleep came for him, and quickly.

They slept into that afternoon. Prince Beelzebub woke him with kisses and a hand on his Effort. He responded in kind, and let them take him in the soft warmth of where they had been sleeping, just moments before.

Their paperwork stacked up as they ignored it. As they found comfort and joy in each other.

That day passed, and then another. Weeks, months, and years. God let them be.

Gabriel marked the seasons in Ekron and in his Prince’s garden. There was a magic in how time could pass so differently in two different places. Gabriel reveled in it. In the changing of the seasons, and the turn of the Earth around the sun.

In Florida, there were the wet times, with storm after storm after storm. And then the drier season. In those months, the rain still came, but it fell more gently.

In the wet season, they planted. In the dry season, they harvested. The bees worked, heedless of the rains. The goats grew and made more goats. The plants sprouted from seeds planted in eggshells, grew in the garden, fruited, and died. The trees grew larger and larger.

They spent their days sparring, dancing, working their land, filing their paperwork, and experimenting with the powers that they had been given by Elohim. As Gabriel excelled in his stormcraft, his Prince grew more and more attuned to the plants and animals of their little island. Particularly the insects.

In the dry season, they had more time for travel, and made time to walk in all of the great cities of men. Beelzebub sought knowledge there, and found the humans to be endlessly entertaining. Gabriel, due to his size, tended to make the humans nervous. So, he spent most of his time in the wing realm. Still, they travelled together. When Gabriel reached a hand out, he found Prince Beelzebub’s easily enough.

They traveled and bore witness. They experienced the feats and marvels of humanity together. Their great sorrows, as well. The first plagues were spreading through the Nun-kis, the great cities, of mankind. It was not uncommon to go to a town that was bustling just the previous year, and to find it enfeebled by sickness or simply abandoned.

Humans were learning, though. And Prince Beelzebub brought the knowledge of hygiene and sewage systems to the Valley of Ekron. The Ekronites erected clean public fountains and public bath houses. The people began to experiment with interior plumbing, and thrived in their clean, verdant, healthy city.

Ekron was a shining gem. A creation to be proud of. A beauty of beauties.

Ekron’s seasons passed in a colorful swirl of pageantry. Their differences were beautiful to Gabriel’s eyes.

The grain shoots grew a dewy green, and then matured to gold with the ripeness of time. The early spring brought the wildflowers back, a colorful swirl of blues, yellows, and whites over the hills where the humans grazed their flocks. Baby sheep and goats and cattle danced in the rain, mud sucking gently at their hooves. And the baby chickens and geese and ducks cracked their eggs and blinked into the sun, all golden and brown fluff.   
  
When the sun blazed down upon them at the longest and hottest days, the grapes grew fat and black, and the olives ripened. On the shortest night, the man butchers did their work at the temples, and they feasted on the men who had been marked by Prince Beelzebub at the equinox. The vicious ones, the rapists and beaters of women and little children. The murderers. Those incompatible with society.

Soon after the midsummer feast came the first harvest. Early summer fruits and vegetables, a great feast, and a competition for the best brewer of summer mead and pale ales--and he would watch his demon partner with most of their humans to dance in the square.

He loved the sight of them, spinning a child or a wizened priestess or a shepherd or a trader across the stone pavilion, hair streaming in their motion. He loved their laughter, and the way that their buzzing got worse as they drank more.

In their costume, as Ba’al of these humans, they shined. Prince Beelzebub was every inch what a god should be, and a constant reminder of the failings of the being above them.

As the summer passed, and the sky turned a silken grey, the second harvest demanded the picking of fruit. Pomegranates and apples, sour orange and figs. Herbs to dry.

Under the leaves that dripped like rain in golds and vermilions, the grass would turn brown and dry. The second equinox came, with another round of judgments.

Late autumn marked the hour for the lambs that were born in the green times. They would be slaughtered for the winter. As would the goats and the foul. The spring steers, and those among the cows who no longer produced enough milk--they also faced the knife.

The cold winds blew down, and the dew froze in the morning. This was the silver time, the time of a rimfrost so soft and light, flocking the dying grass. The empty trees.

Silver time was the time of great migration for the fish, and the fishermen would make jokes about how they could catch their supper with their hands, for the fish became so plentiful.

And, on the darkest night, they butchered more men and feasted.

The humans marked the turn of their world with festivals and Gabriel was happy to attend. In the early spring, Ba’al blessed the finest of the newborn lambs and kid goats of Ekron. There was the Day of Homeblessing, and the Day of Child Blessing. The day of Mothers, where all of the statues of Lilitu and Semiramis were venerated with candles and flowers.

At noon on the equinoxes, the priests of Ba’al sat in judgment of any disagreement that was too important for the courts. This was the Court of Reconciliation, and those who sat in judgment were called the Council of the Wise.

Any man judged guilty of rape, murder, or hurting women and children by the courts in the last six months was brought before the Council of the Wise early in the day. Those that the Council deemed to be too dangerous to live (all of the rapists, any who harmed women and children, those who killed men without provocation) were sent to Prince Beelzebub to decide their fates.

The ones suffering from some sickness (a cancer in the brain, a tumor of the liver, or kick from a horse), those would be healed and watched. Those who acted of their own volition, they were castrated and kept in the temple, fatted to be slaughtered for the midsummer or midwinter feasts.

In the early summer, Ba’al poured wine into the river and the sea, and blessed the fishermen. Some had begun to worship Dagon, and Ba’al built her a temple near the water.

Autumn was harvest time and festival time, and Gabriel enjoyed watching his Prince play the kindly god of fertility for Babylon. He enjoyed the feasts and the dances and the art and pageantry of these times.

So, time passed, as it always did. God had no use for either of them, and so they passed many peaceful years with Prince Beelzebub’s humans.

And with each other, of course.

Every month, as the moon waxed full, Prince Beelzebub would leave for Hell and return with gifts and news from the demon Crowley. They always returned happy, glad to hear from Crowley, and to see Dagon as well. Pleased by the company of their friends.

Gabriel was no longer troubled by his fierce jealousy of Crowley. The months and years passed, and his Prince always returned to him. There seemed no danger in a wandering demon who brought news and gifts on the full moon. No danger at all when his Prince came home to him and slept in his arms.

And, when Heaven required it of him, Gabriel returned to attend to meetings and other matters. All of the other angels seemed too busy to care what each other did when they weren’t sitting around a table together. Or, maybe, Michael’s wisdom had made it around Heaven. Maybe they all believed that Gabriel was a thick-headed soldier, only capable of following commands, and potentially in the service of a demon for God’s own ineffable reasons.

That idea had some merit, considering the pitying stares he sometimes got from Muriel, who was recovering from her own encounter with Hell’s worst.

_She must think that my Prince is like Asmodeus_, Gabriel thought, as he caught her doleful look, her sad eyes. _She must think that I am suffering_.

He gave her a gentle smile and let her interpret it how she would. Meanwhile, Gabriel was relieved that gentle Muriel no longer seemed in danger of Falling. Her resilience was one of the better things to see in Heaven, and also the way that the others (especially his siblings) went out of their way to bring her little gifts to cheer her up.

Her desk, the welcome desk of Heaven, always had fresh flowers. So Gabriel brought flowers from his Prince’s garden to join the others.

He set a vase of lilacs and narcissus on the desk one day, just before a meeting about the migration of the Hammites. Muriel’s desk already had a spray of roses and a basket of lilies. Also a vase of peacock feathers.

“Feathers?” Gabriel had asked.

“From Sandalphon,” Muriel said, her voice tinkling and lovely. “He means well.”

Gabriel ran a finger along one, and smiled. In this act, Sandalphon showed that he could be kind, if misguided.

So Gabriel went to Heaven when he was required, and Prince Beelzebub visited Hell on the full moons. Otherwise, they split their time between Florida and Ekron.

They lived in peace and happiness, without any direct missions from God, and that suited both of them. They worked their lands and aided the Prince’s humans, and bothered none from Heaven nor Hell.

He played with his clouds and lightning and storm, and they bred and grew their plants and animals. Together, they increased each other’s might, and Gabriel kept his efficiency by relying on his Prince’s miracles to keep up with Heaven’s prodigious paperwork.

In the quiet times, they reached for each other. They found their joy in each other’s flesh, in the gentle patter of words and kisses. In the storms of passion that they unleashed on one another. In the sweat and saliva and seed (streaked gold and black) that their passions drew from each other.   
  
In the sweet shelter of warm arms and warmer words, a full stomach and a shared bed,they lived their lives. Simple lives. Peaceful lives.

It was never meant to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent NaNoWriMo working on this beast, and so I'm starting the updates again. I wrote like ~26 chapters...so weekly updates are going to be a thing you can count on. And we're still in Genesis, but I needed to start fleshing out the frame of the narrative, or y'all would be hella pissed at me when we reach the end of this beast.
> 
> It *is* a framed narrative. There are *things* happening outside of the characters and settings and plot. There *is* a reason that God is a dry-rot douche yacht.
> 
> So...notes:
> 
> Again, Florida has a wet season and a dry season. Which is more like the wet season and the less-wet-but-still-moist season. 
> 
> I have no idea what kind of festivals that the Babylonians had in general, nor Ekron in specific, but I know which ones Beelzebub would want. 
> 
> The cannibalism, yes. The early church believed that the Babylonians were cannibals (yeah, I know, not the most reliable source), so I decided that Beelzebub would give over the flesh of those who were not able to function in their society to their people. That it would be ritualized and not "just for funzies" cannibalism.
> 
> I'm happy to be back in this world. I shoved my other projects aside to spend a month on it, and I'm happy with the results. 
> 
> I should be updating Signed and Sealed once a week. 
> 
> And I'll be finishing A Tale of Crowns and Coins very soon as well. Ineffable Teens is about half done. 
> 
> Comments? Questions? Comments and kudos drive away the dark!


	26. Tasting the Choice Fruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel and Beelzebub's years of peace are ended after an autumnal festival to Dagon. After a night of passion and delight, a scroll arrives for each of them announcing that God and Lucifer require their service.
> 
> I put the smut here. Lots of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: smut, oral sex, fingering, anal sex, vaginal sex, some blood

Prince Beelzebub's Gardens, Florida Keys, Middle Dry Season, 2773 BCE

* * *

Their peace came to an end many years after Hagar’s death, on the day after the autumnal celebration at Dagon’s temple.

This celebration was rare, in that Dagon actually attended. Gabriel had never met her but once, at the gates of Pandemonium, and then only barely. But he felt as if he knew her rather well through Prince Beelzebub.

And seeing his Prince’s smile spread as their friend rose up through the waves was glorious.

Dagon’s auburn hair floated across the lapping waves, and then the rest of her rose beneath that hair. She was clad in a gown the color of the sea, sparkling in the moonlight. Her skin and scales, so pale and silvery, reflected the wan light of the stars.

Prince Beelzebub rushed out into the water to meet her, stumbling through the waves until they collided with her. They grasped each other, laughing as they danced an awkward circle in the foam. Prince Beelzebub clasped her hands, and kissed her cheeks when she bent to allow it. They’d led her from the sea, breathless and laughing their joy.

When she came close enough, her followers bowed their heads and allowed her to bless them with seawater. Gabriel watched from the side. He traveled in the wing realm when he joined Prince Beelzebub in Ekron, but Dagon saw him, all the same.

She smiled at Gabriel, recognition plain on her face. Recognition and a kindly respect. A warmth he had not expected, but he appreciated.

Dagon’s sharp teeth reflected the moonlight, the starlight, and some inner radiance. Prince Beelzebub brought her to a place of honor at the high table, and she spent the night feasting and jesting with her followers. She blessed anything they brought her--themselves, their children, pieces of driftwood, a silver coin, a few fish bones, and a snaggle-toothed mongrel for one old fisherman.

Dagon returned to Hell through the sea, and Prince Beelzebub returned home with Gabriel. They’d had quite a bit of mead, and Gabriel found them as passionate as they usually were after a festival night. He washed the mead and juice and sweat from them, though they did make the task somewhat difficult for him.

He’d attempt to wash them, and they’d start kissing him. He’d try to wash them, and they’d slip their hands beneath the water. He eventually gave up on washing them, and let them run their hands over his belly, his thighs, his rigid cock.

He’d spent the entire day longing for them. Watching them dance with their humans, with their friend. Watched the blood creep in their cheeks with each cup of mead. Smelling them as they walked past him, as they sweat through their silks.

As the evening wound down, they began to anticipate him. He spent the last hour smelling the arousal on them. Wanting their hands right where they were.

He did not last long. He had no reason to hold out. The shine in Prince Beelzebub’s eyes told him that they were planning to wear him out.

He wanted to be worn out. No better way to celebrate the changing of the seasons.

Prince Beelzebub cleaned the water with a miracle, and heated it again. Then, they stood before him, feet planted firmly on either side of his thighs.

He knew what they wanted, and he began to kiss their soft belly. The silky skin of their thighs, and the waiting mouth between. Their moans and their buzzes were a song that he knew all the words to. He slid his tongue along the bottom of their length, and they sighed.

“Yezz...my zzweet angel. More.”

He could never deny them anything. He slipped his mouth over the head of their cock and took them deep inside. His hands found their way to the back of their thighs, just under the moons of their ass, support in case they felt weak.

He suckled at them, and they ran their fingers through their his hair, fingernails brushing the skin of his scalp. The soft buzzed turned deeper, something guttural and animal, crawling from their lovely throat.

He took his time, teasing and nibbling between long strokes.

They were drunk and he could feel their body softening. Sinking.

Gabriel pulled his mouth from them, and used both hands to ease them back, and then down. He sat them on the lip of the bathtub, allowing them time to grasp the edge. To get the purchase that they were going to need.

Once they were comfortable, he slid down, between their legs, on his knees, mouth on them, working them in earnest now.

A hand went to the back of his head, guiding him, giving him a rhythm to follow. He expected it, and obeyed. As they knew that he would.

It did not take long, and they screamed his name as they exploded. Gabriel slowed his movements, but did not stop. He cleaned them gently, grooming with lips and tongue.

He leaned up and kissed them, tongues joining and sparring, his hand cupping the back of their neck. Their hands on his shoulders.

He slipped a curious finger inside them as he kissed them. They moaned their assent into his mouth, and he smiled in their kiss.

No better way to celebrate the turn of every season.

His fingers worked them below as his mouth traced its way down. He wanted their breasts, and they leaned back to offer them. The soft flesh around the nipple was flushed and taut. He ran his tongue over it, skin as soft and supple as the skin that shielded the head of their cock. He slipped his mouth over the nipple, and they sighed his name.

That sound, three syllables, breathy in his ear--their voice, but every rough edge polished away by their need--that sound imprinted itself in the meat of his brain. Their devotion shimmered in the word, and he felt their hot breath from his ear, down his spine, to the swelling in his loins that they inspired.

Below, he stretched them. Made them wet and ready for him. Above, he used tongue and teeth on their breasts. Drawing forth their buzzes, their sighs, and the deep groans.

The sweat on their skin shimmered like the morning dew as he reached for them. As he began to stroke them. The moaned for him, a soft and needy sound. Slowly, very slowly, he called the lightning into his hand, and felt his Prince’s nails enter his skin.

The pain flared from his shoulders down his back. He felt his golden blood follow that same track as he looked up at them. Their head thrown back, lips moving silently, whispering their litany. Every variation of “my love”--six letters, two syllables. Words to destroy him. Words to save him.

He wanted them, now.

Hands went to their waist and drew them down, and his lips found theirs, still moving in their prayers.

“_Mon amour_...” they whimpered.

“_Mon doux Prince..._” he replied, slipping inside them. Burying his face into the sweet meat of their neck, kissing them there.

“_Ne me...ne me traite pas douzzement..._Pleazze, Gabriel!”

He laughed, and pulled them off of him. He turned his Prince away from him, and pressed a firm hand on their back. They understood, and knelt for him, legs spread, and their fingers reached between their legs, opening themselves for him.

“You’re going to need both hands for purchase, my Prince,” he said. “I’ll find my way inside.”

He stroked their lips with his cock as Prince Beelzebub obeyed him, clinging to the edge of the bathtub with both hands. He changed his angle, and thrust up.

Prince Beelzebub cried out. The pain must have been intense. He’d been inside them like this before, in this place, just as they had been inside him. But he’d always done so gently, with oils and his coaxing fingers to ease his entry.

He’d never tried it without any build-up.

Their breath came in taut little pants. But they did not make any movement to dislodge him. He felt their very tight hole loosen around him, courtesy of an infernal miracle. They did not cry out again. Instead, they pressed back. They took him all the way inside of them.

He reached around them, collecting the flesh (which had softened just a bit from the sudden pain) in a hand that sparked with the barest amount of lightning.

“Rough enough for you?” he asked, not bothering to keep the smile out of his voice. He leaned forward, peppering their narrow shoulders with kisses.

“Yezz...” they groaned. “More...”

Gabriel drew back, nearly out, stroking Prince Beelzebub as he did so. Waiting, waiting, and then pushing forward as hard as he dared.

They did, indeed, need both hands for purchase. They cried their prayers, and their words (some barely formed) rang off of the glass with every one of Gabriel’s thrusts.

He felt them climax, and he kept going. Driving into them with powerful, controlled strokes. But his passion rose hot in him, and his control slipped. Now, he rode in earnest. Hard, fast strokes. He could hear them weeping.

But there was joy in the sound.

He slammed into them, his movements losing their rhythm as the pain in his spine flared, as he felt himself loose inside them.

Prince Beelzebub cried out for him, the last word of their prayers. His name. They rode out their last climax and unfurled their beautiful wings for him.

Gabriel stayed inside them, gathering them from their knees, from the side of the copper tub, and into his lap. He ran his fingers over their chest, their shoulders, the place where their shivering wings joined their body. One arm settled around their waist, and the other guided their jaw, drew their lips to his.

He kissed them as his blood ebbed. He slipped from them in the warm embrace of the tub. In a cloud of golden seed and a few wisps of black blood.

They often bled for each other. He bled from his shoulders, and they bled from the tender flesh that he’d so recently occupied.

He reached for a sponge, and Prince Beelzebub chuckled at him.

“Zzeriously?”

“Yeah...”

They laughed, and that sweet sound filled the whole glass house. Gabriel felt the infernal miracle cleanse his flesh.

“We’re both too tired,” they said. “Unlezz...you’re not?”

Gabriel kissed the back of their neck. “Oh, if you healed me, I could...” His hands wandered down. “I’ve neglected you here.”

He slipped a finger inside, and they gasped. “Zzo you have.”

“More?” he asked, between his kisses.

“You make a zztrong argument.”

“You’re wet already,” he said, sliding another finger inside them. “Is it a miracle?”

“No. Juzzt you...Ah! Gabriel!”

“You don’t even have to heal me,” he breathed into their ear. “A few more minutes like this, and I’ll be ready again.”

He sent the lightning through his fingers and his Prince cried out as it entered them. “My love...my love...”

They rocked on his fingers, pressing his cock between them and him. Rubbing it with their ass, knowing exactly how much friction and weight to apply.

As Gabriel predicted, he was soon ready again.

He drew his fingers from them, and then lifted them onto him. He held them tightly to himself. His belly against their back, chest against their shoulders, trapping their twitching wings against him.

They dismissed their wings as they rose up on him, and then fell into him. He ducked his head under one arm, finding a nipple as they rode him. His fingers captured the other, and his free hand found them hard and ready for his attention.

No better way to pass a night, to mark the seasons, to move the Earth around the sun.

That sun rose before they dragged themselves from the copper tub and the glass house. Before they fed themselves and collapsed into their bed, a tangle of limbs and exhaustion.

“Zzleepy?” they teased him as they curled against him in the bed.

“Aren’t you?” he replied, kissing their shoulder.

“Yezz,” they sighed. “But I could heal uzz.”

Gabriel wrapped his arms around them, pulling them as tightly as he could. He was tired, and so were they. They yawned as he pulled the blankets over them.

“I love you,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

“Azz you zzay...but tomorrow, your azz izz mine,” they murmured.

He smiled to himself, because every part of him was theirs. Every part.

He was drifting, very close to sleep, barely conscious when he heard the _flumph_ in his satchel.

Something landed in Prince Beelzebub’s basket at the same time.

If it was for both of them, it was something big.

Prince Beelzebub let out a grumble from their place in his arms. They slid away from him and threw back the blankets.

They stretched, radiant and nude in the morning sun. Slowly, they padded to the trestle table. To their wicker basket. Gabriel pulled the missive from his satchel. Sealed by Elohim, of course. Gabriel broke the wax with his thumbnail and unwrapped the parchment. The news was expected, but most unwelcome.

“Abram,” Prince Beelzebub said, setting their own message on the table. They turned back to the bed, leaning against the trestle table.

“Yes,” Gabriel replied, even though the Prince had not asked a question. “God summons you as well?”

“Luzzifer,” they said with a mild shrug. They turned, and moved their message from the table back to their basket. When they looked over their shoulder at Gabriel, their blue eyes were sad. “I’d go, even if I wazz not azzked. For zzweet Ishmael.”

“I’m expected in twelve hours...with gifts?”

“Ah,” they said, turning now to face him in the bed. “Don’t worry about the giftzz. I can handle that.”

Gabriel knew what they planned, from the way they planted their feet on the ground to the determined gleam in their eyes. The wicked half smile that played on their lips as the sun streamed through their prisms and crystals, and scattered rainbows across the walls, and their milk-white skin.

“We have twelve hourzz,” they said, and their tone was nothing but mischief. “Your azz izz mine for the next eleven, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: The title is from the Song of Solomon. Yes, it means what you think it means. I'm not taking anything out of context here.


	27. According to Her Purpose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraham, the patriarch of three great religions, is dying. God has sent Her servants to make his transition peaceful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Some smut, deathbed scenes, death and dying

Eleven hours passed very quickly, in the demon’s embrace. Gabriel was beyond exhausted, light-headed, and sweetly sore where Prince Beelzebub had left their marks upon him. In their passion, they’d rended his skin, marked him with their teeth, and driven themself deep inside him. The best of his delicious aches came from the place (deep, deep inside of him) that they’d spent most of the past few hours, extracting his pleasure with his pain. Fingers and then cock, reaching for the core of him.

Now, he stood before the flat rock, Prince Beelzebub’s altar, as it filled with baskets. The baskets wove themselves in the air, in the cool gaze of the demon, under the power of their miracles.

Woven from the rushes that they had both harvested at the beginning of the dry seasons. Harvested, spread out in the sun to dry, and then stored in a cabinet built for the purpose. One that held far more than it should.

The demon stood before their altar, nude in the flickering light of their torches and the steady silvery light of the moon. They reached up, and gestured in the air above them.

Gabriel watched as a basket wove itself in the air, settled on the stone, and filled. Wheels of cheese, skeins of cotton thread, fine silks from distant markets, rare spices in glass jars, casks of wine, casks of mead, casks of ale, barrels of live fish, amphorae of honey, sacks of seeds, and herds of tiny sleeping goats.

All of these things shrank and settled into the confines of their individual basket. As another basket wove itself in the air and settled gently to the stone.

“So many...” Gabriel said, wonder flavoring his words.

“Father Abraham hazz many zzonzz...but he gave hizz zztuff to only one.”

“What?”

“Izzac. He inheritzz everything.” The demon paused, moving a couple of amphorae to make room for a cheese wheel and a tiny crate of shrunken sleeping goats. “Thezze are giftzz for hizz other children.”

“God didn’t provide?”

“God provided UZZ. What are we if not Her zzervantzz?” Prince Beelzebub asked. “Anything for our peazze.”

“Peace,” Gabriel repeated.

“This is the lazzt one,” they said. The basket, now full of gifts, joined the others on the altar. The demon summoned a large canvas sack beneath the spreading live oak, and the baskets disappeared inside. “Come, my love.”

Gabriel obeyed. Their small hands laid on his chest. They faced each other, nothing between them but the air. Prince Beelzebub began to heal Gabriel of the marks of their passion. The bites and scratches, the abrasions on his knees and the tip of his cock. The strained muscles and the exhaustion. Their hand slipped lower, easing his Effort back inside him.

As always, he kept the little gold dot at the place where his neck met his shoulder. Their first mark upon him.

The last thing that they healed away was the sweet pain deep inside. The reminder of their fingers and cock, their kindness and their passion. He felt it drain away from him, and he missed it.

Beelzebub slipped away from him, and laid their palms on the stone. He did not have to ask. They knew what he wanted.

They raised themselves up, sleek as a cat, and settled on the edge. Slowly, they opened their legs to him.

They were hard and ready for him. For the last gift he could give them, and the last he could receive.

Afterwards--after they had climaxed in his mouth (a benediction streaked sweet and black)--afterwards, they evacuated his stomach and bowels. His bladder, his prostate, and every part of him that might contain some trace of them, of Florida, of this beautiful life.

Just in case, they always said. Just in case.

In case God stole him away. He knew.

He feared. But God had been content to allow them their peace.

Gabriel watched as his Prince garbed them both. For him, white linen robes, hair covered--wrapped tightly, robes trimmed in a dye of their own design, a mix of vermilion and indigo. His _bisht_ was dyed the same lovely color, and his _egal_ was woven gold. Plain leather sandals bound themselves around his feet and laced up his calves. Fine robes in white and violet for the Messenger of God.

The demon donned robes dyed with indigo, a woman’s garb. Veils to cover their face, mourning robes. Mourning robes in rich colors to mark the one who brought the gifts of Elohim.

The Prince collected their own travelling satchel. Smaller than the sack of baskets, containing the strong soaps, the sour wine, the linens, the board, the flowers, the incense, and the wood harp.

Gabriel gathered the sack of gifts and his Prince, so lovely in their robes and veils, to himself and trusted his lightning to guide him to the place that Elohim had specified.

They landed beneath the scrubby, twisted tree that Gabriel had once helped Sandalphon to dress beneath. They walked the rest of the way, beneath a clear sky and beside fields of brown grass.

“They will have heard of Ba’al,” the Prince said, as they disentangled themself from Gabriel. “I’ll uzze my old name here...calling myself by the new one would just cauzze pain to Abraham and hizz people.”

Gabriel nodded as the two of them set off towards the huge skin tent in the middle of Abraham’s lands.

Abraham’s old tent had been expanded. The autumn sun stared down on the bleached skins of it. The livestock had already been slaughtered for the autumn, and the few remaining would be gathered to a cave for the winter. He could see the servants moving bales of dried grass to the mouth of the cave.

That cave, near the fields of Abraham, was a fortunate place to spend the harsher months. A hot spring passed beneath it, and hot water pooled up in shallow basins, which Abraham and his sons had shaped for the water. The spring water cooled enough in the stone troughs to be drunk by the animals.

Abraham’s family and servants would strike their tents and spend their winter months with the animals, warm in the cave until the springtime, when they could return to their tents.

Abraham would be dead by then. Gabriel recognized Ishmael’s eldest son, stacking stones near the mouth of a small cave. Isaac’s second son helped his cousin, the autumn sun glinting off of his red hair--like coppery wire in the light. The men stopped their work to watch the two strangers who approached the tent. And then they hurried to the tent, to see what tidings these strangers brought.

The servants stopped as well. One, perhaps one blessed by God to see their wings in the second realm, fell to his knees and began to pray.

Prince Beelzebub walked to the tent, heedless of the praying servant. Heedless of the eyes of Abraham’s grandsons. Instead, they kept their gaze to the white tent. Gabriel followed, and tried to emulate their bearing. Their single-mindedness to the task set before them by Lucifer.

When they reached the tent, a servant of Abraham’s held the flap open for them. Beelzebub nodded at the man, and Gabriel blessed him.

The tent smelled of smoke and the humans within. Abraham’s second wife, all of his children, his grandchildren, their spouses, his grandchildren, down to naked babes in their mother’s laps. The tent must have held a hundred, plus some servants and retainers.

They were recognized, and a hush fell over the humans. Even wild Esau, when he slipped through the tent flap behind them, even he held his tongue and went to his mother and brother meekly.

Beelzebub gave a nod to the humans, and their wings shivered into the mortal realm. Gabriel unleashed his as well, and the humans sighed at the sight.

Beelzebub walked towards the old man, and the humans parted to let them both pass.

The smell that hung around the sickbed was the same as what hung around Hagar. Soft feces, old piss, and the unnamable scent of death. It smelled sweet and overripe.

Abraham, a man of many years, laid in a bundle of sheepskins. Age had reduced him to a creature closer to the frightened teenager that Gabriel had met once, facing down the full force of Nimrod. Skinny and shivering, in spite of his proximity to the fire at the center of the tent.

His wife, Keturah, sat beside the bundle of sheepskins. From time to time, she lifted a skin to Abraham’s lips. He accepted it, and then spoke in low tones to his family that surrounded him.

But as his family split to let the angel and demon through, Abraham fell silent. His eyes sparkled, and his face broke open in a radiant, beatific smile.

Prince Beelzebub stepped to Abraham’s side. He might not recognize the demon, Gabriel knew, in the delirium of his final hours. But Gabriel thought that Abraham ought to recognize him.

If he was not too far into the grave.

“You are the angels of the Lord that I knew in my youth,” Abraham said to them.

_Half-right_, Gabriel thought.

“You brought the lady this time...” Abraham said. “I was hoping to see you again, sweet lady. But he told me that you are a demon...”

“I am a zzervent, Abraham. Behold, we bring giftzz for your zzonzz. The zzeedzz of Abraham,” Beelzebub said, bowing elegantly before the shriveled patriarch of Elohim’s humans. They drew their veils from their face, turning their crystal blue eyes to Abraham.

Gabriel opened his sack and pulled the first basket from inside. “Zimran?” he asked.

A hale man with a face that looked like it was carved from ebony wood stepped forward. His white robes barely stirred with his movement, so graceful was he.

“Don’t open it inside this tent. The gifts of Elohim...they take up quite a bit of space,” Gabriel said.

Zimran took the basket and nodded. “God is good,” he said. “My thanks to our Lord and His messengers.”

Gabriel blessed the man, and waited for him to withdraw before pulling another basket from the sack. “Jokshan?”

So it went, and Gabriel distributed baskets to all of Abraham’s sons and grandsons, except to Isaac and his children.

When the sack was empty, Isaac asked Prince Beelzebub, “Has the Lord sent nothing for me?”

Rebekah watched her husband. Near her, studious Jacob looked up from his prayers and Esau (wild-eyed and red as the evening sun--the one who had been stacking stones with his cousin for his grandfather’s caern) stopped honing the blade of his knife. Isaac’s sons and his wife eagerly awaited the demon’s reply.

“Izzaac,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Look around thyzzelf. All that wazz your father’zz shall be yourzz. The giftzz that we bring are for your brotherzz, who would go and people the Earth for the glory of God.”

Ishmael laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You were chosen by God, Isaac. Brother, be glad for your own gifts.”

Isaac laughed and embraced his brother. “You are often wise, and I am often a fool.”

“God knowzz you, and blezzezz you with the bounty of your father,” they said. “Thezze giftzz are rich, but your wealth--the wealth of Abraham--izz greater.”

“God is good,” Isaac said, bowing his head.

Gabriel blessed him, and then went with Prince Beelzebub to kneel beside the man who would soon be with his God.

“Have you come to take me home to the Lord?” Abraham asked.

“No,” Gabriel said.

“You shall pazz this day,” Prince Beelzebub said. “But neither of uzz knowzz when.”

Abraham nodded.

“We come to pay our respectzz,” the demon continued. “I will clean your body when you pazz, zzo none among your people will be unclean after.”

“I thank you for it,” Abraham said.

“What shall we call you, lady?” Isaac asked.

“I was told her name once, I think...” Abraham said. “But I am old and I have forgotten.”

“Call me Remiel,” Prince Beelzebub said.

“Are you truly a demon as my father said?”

“I zzerve the Lord.”

“Are you an angel?”

“I am not, but zztill, I zzerve.”

“What are you?”

“A zzervant. The Lord hazz many, in many formzz.” The demon drew a sack of powdered incense from their bag. “Abraham, I wazz with you when you fazzed Nimrod. I shall be with you until the end.”

Abraham smiled. “You are most welcome to my tent, servant of the Lord.”

“I thank you,” the demon said. “You remember Gabriel, yezz?”

“Yes, we have met. In Nimrod’s lands, and just before the fall of Sodom.”

“Good. Keturah, the wine?” they said, extending a fine, slender hand to Keturah.

“Yes, Remiel,” Keturah replied, handing the skin over to the demon.

“Gabriel, for the braziers,” Prince Beelzebub said, handing Gabriel the sack of incense.

From their robes, they drew a tiny crystal amphora. The milky liquid inside seemed to swirl in the Prince’s palm. The wineskin was open, and Prince Beelzebub poured the contents of the amphora into the wineskin. They pressed a thumb over the opening and shook.

“Drink, Abraham,” they said. “It will eazze your pain.”

Gabriel watched the demon press the skin to Abraham’s mouth, and watched him drink deeply of the wine. He knew that they would clean his body and do whatever they could to make the dying man more comfortable.

He turned away from his Prince, and he stepped to the nearest brazier. Among the coals, he cast a handful of powder. The sweet scent of resins and herbs rose up from the fire, and he moved to the next one.

At the fourth brazier, a slender figure wrapped in fine blue linens leaned against one of the tent posts. Gabriel recognized his dark blue eyes, though he did not recognize the auburn bearded man in blazing white robes who waited beside him.

“Israfil,” Gabriel said, briskly. Coolly.

“Brother,” Israfil returned. “It is good to see you again, and Remiel as well.”

“What brings you here?” Gabriel asked.

“God commands and I obey. Same as you.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes.

“I follow Ishmael and his line, and shall. Always shall. I suppose Father called you special? Or rather, called Remiel and you followed?”

“We were both summoned here.”

“To refresh the braziers?”

“To serve,” Gabriel said. “And I still have two more braziers, so excuse me.”

Two sets of bright blue eyes watched him leave, one the deep blue of the evening sky, and the other the blue of cornflowers. Gabriel liked neither.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> The Father Abraham song: <https://www.bethsnotesplus.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Father-Abraham.png>
> 
> Bisht: <https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bisht_(clothing)>
> 
> It's fastened with an egal.


	28. What is Due to Thy Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub and Gabriel attempt to navigate Abraham's final moments. Israfil is present, and wishes to speak to his former student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: discussion of death and dying, cliffhanger ending

Prince Beelzebub had the wood harp out and was singing for Abraham when Gabriel returned to his side. He recognized the Song of the Seeds. It was an appropriate choice for Abraham, who would be the father of so many nations. Gabriel listened with the rest, as Prince Beelzebub played and buzzed their song. Their voice was a pleasant thing, the whisper of spring winds through the grass. The rush of water across dry sand. The buzz of their bees, working in their fields and in their hives.

The whole tent listened as the Prince sang of the children of Israel. The seeds of an almighty Father, sent out to make more. To outnumber the stars in the sky and the grains of sand on the beach.

After that song, Beelzebub sang something older. Something blasphemous that time had sanded the rougher edges off of. What was once a pagan melody, spitting in the eye of God, had become a folk song. Stripped of its power, it was merely a pretty curiosity. A relic of the past.

But the Prince knew its meaning, and sang it anyways.

“‘Come and kizz my cold, dead lipzz, o my bride,

and zzee the truth of thine own zzweet huzzband.’

Young and old, hard and zzoft, she takes hizz hand.

Look how she goezz, zzo gentle to hizz zzide.”

Gabriel smiled at them as they sang the Bride of Death’s song. If Abraham’s family was offended, they gave no sign of it. In fact, several of them joined in, including Abraham.

“‘I fear you not. I know your name, my love.’

Her zzweet breath did linger on lipzz zzo warm.

His wingzz unfurled. Her kizz brought on hizz zztorm.

O, their heat below fed the rainzz above.”

And so they sang of love and life and death, and Abraham’s family sang with them. The version that they had chosen was one of the shorter ones, at a paltry ten verses. The family knew that version, and their voices rose higher with each subsequent version, until Prince Beelzebub finished the song and played the last notes on their wood harp.

“Izz there anything that I can zzing for you, Abraham?” they asked. “Anything to bring you comfort?”

“Do you know ‘The Serpent and the Dove’?” Abraham asked.

Prince Beelzebub nodded, and a plucked a cheerful tune from their wood harp.

“I knew a zzerpent crawling in the green

whozze tongue was honey. Hizz zzcalezz were black.

The zzerpent zzpied a dove, zzo clean,

a child of God, too fair to attack.”

It had been a long time since Gabriel had heard this song. It was popular in the markets of Babylon, and he’d heard it many times there. It was believed to be a song for Nimrod and Semiramis, but Gabriel suddenly doubted that.

He listened as the serpent attempted to romance the dove, and the dove (an innocent who knew nothing of love) rebuked him. The dove did not understand the serpent’s intentions, and so the rebukes were not true rebukes, and the serpent kept trying.

It was poignant at times, and at times silly. A child’s verse that occasionally held profound truths. A lovely song to ease an old man back to his youth.

Abraham must not have known all of the verses, because at some points (in spite of the heavy dose of opium that Prince Beelzebub administered to him) his eyes lit up like a little boy’s.

The song finished with the dove flying away, and the serpent returning to his grass, knowing that they would meet again. That every day was a new day and every touch a new opportunity.

The song ended, and the humans applauded. Prince Beelzebub bowed graciously.

“Wherever did you hear that zzong, Abraham?” the demon asked.

“There was a woman in the markets who used to sing it,” Abraham said. “Tall, she was. Taller than any woman I’ve ever seen before or since. A priestess, I think. Of the pagan gods. She was lovely though, with golden eyes and scarlet hair.”

“Wazz she?” Prince Beelzebub asked, mirth playing with the corners of their lips.

“Aye, yes. And I think she wrote that song.”

“She did.”

“Did you know her?”

“I do know her. She zzervezz, azz I do.”

“Ah! Of course...”

Abraham laid back in his skins. His bony hand reached out and found his wife’s.

“Izz there pain, Abraham?” they asked.

“No, sweet servant of the Lord. I feel no pain.”

“If you have anything elzze to zzpeak to your family of, do it,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Your time drawzz clozze.”

They bowed, slipping their wood harp back into their bag, and slipping away from the clot of Abraham’s relations. The children and grandchildren of Abraham crowded in around him, as he prepared himself to distribute whatever wisdom he had left for the living.

Prince Beelzebub found Gabriel, and slipped an arm around his. He smiled down at them, and then frowned as they pulled him in the direction of Israfil and his stranger.

“I zzaw my mazzter, I believe,” they said.

“You did.”

“I muzzt give my greetingzz,” they said.

Gabriel said nothing, as nothing he said would change their mind. He did not like Israfil, and his easy smiles. His affection for the little Prince. He did not trust his brother, and misliked whomever that stranger was. The man that Israfil was travelling with.

But soon, they were in the dark corner that Israfil waited in.

“Mazzter,” Prince Beelzebub said, lowering their head to him. “It is good to see you again.”

“Remiel,” Israfil said, and the warmth in his voice caused Gabriel to clench his jaws hard enough to crack a mortal’s teeth. “It’s good to see you as well. I’d think by now, you’d have no master.”

“You taught me, and I honor you for it,” they said, smiling. “Honey?” the demon asked, pulling a small jar from their robes.

“You and your affinity for bee puke,” Israfil said with a rueful laugh, but he took the offered jar and pocketed it inside his robes.

“Who izz thizz man, Mazzter?” Prince Beelzebub asked, indicating the stranger in white.

“When I lost you,” Israfil explained, “God gave me a new student. Remiel, may I introduce you to Pestilence?”

“Honored to meet you, Remiel,” Pestilence said, snatching the hand that Prince Beelzebub offered and laying a kiss on the top of it. “I’ve heard many things about you.”

Gabriel tensed.

“I hope I may live up to my mazzter’zz praizze,” Prince Beelzebub said.

“Who said it was praise?” Israfil countered, but his tone was light.

“Wazz it not?” Prince Beelzebub asked.

“I might have mentioned a certain deficiency in...humility.”

“One doezz not require humility when one hazz zzkill.”

“Spoken truly.”

“Quoted,” Prince Beelzebub said. “A very wizze Archangel told me that...oh, if only I could remember hizz name.”

Israfil laughed, an open and light sound, merry. The mourners around Abraham did not notice, and Gabriel realized that he could feel his brother’s wards around them. Protecting them from the prying eyes and ears of the mortals.

“Pezztilenzze...I may not have had the pleazzure of your acquaintance, but I know that I have zzeen your work,” the demon said. “You ride through the citiezz and townshipzz of Elohim with zzome regularity.”

“I do,” Pestilence replied. His voice was light and pleasant. “I’ve ridden through Babylon and through Ekron before, but never as profitably.”

“Elohim’zz people are beginning to understand the importanzze of zztaying clean, but we built it into the citiezz of Babylonia,” Prince Beelzebub explained. “Particularly Ekron, but that’zz our zzpezzial project.

“You...you two are working together?” Pestilence asked. “An angel and a demon?”

“Lovers,” Israfil said, and Gabriel despised the way that his lip curled when he said it. “A great tragedy. God expelled Remiel for it, yet our Lord allows this. Perhaps the lesson is to be learned later...”

“What’zz that mean? Mazzter?” Prince Beelzebub asked, voice as soft as cotton. Thin as muslin. They tensed against Gabriel.

“There’s to be a war in the end, sweet Remiel,” Israfil continued. “And when it happens, you will be on one side, and he will be on the other.”

“I am aware of thizz,” they replied, stubbornly. “Zzo izz he.”

“Won’t it hurt more? Having to kill each other in the end?”

“Zztubborn azz we are? Who’zz to zzay we won’t be the lazzt onezz zztanding?”

“Stubborn you are, but no fools. God would never permit you to prevail.”

“If She endzz me, through war or by zzome other meanzz, I’ll die happy," they said, smiling their sweet, sad smile. "Izzrafil, I shall take whatever zzweetnezz I can get, and count myzzelf lucky for the momentzz that I zzpend by hizz zzide.”

Israfil reached out, cupping the Prince’s face and running a gentle thumb over the apple of their cheek. There was a peculiar tic to his eye as he did it. With a gentle touch, he drew Prince Beelzebub to him. The little demon followed Israfil’s unspoken command, disentangling themself from Gabriel to do it.

“Sweet, stubborn child. Would that you had that level of loyalty to me. You’d still be in Heaven, wouldn’t you?” Israfil said, and his tone oozed sugar. He did not take his hand from the demon’s face, and Gabriel did not like where this was going.

Not one bit.


	29. The Valley of the Shadow of Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Abraham dies, Beelzebub is confronted by their old master. Sparks fly, but not from Gabriel, who is in no position to help his Prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: death and dying, assault, forced kissing, possessiveness

“Sweet, stubborn child. Would that you had that level of loyalty to me. You’d still be in Heaven, wouldn’t you?” Israfil said, and his tone oozed sugar. He did not take his hand from the demon’s face, and Gabriel did not like where this was going.

Not one bit.

Remiel’s hand went to Israfil’s wrist. “Mazzter?”

“You belonged with me. It’s that simple. And if you’d stayed with me, and minded your duties in the Garden, you wouldn’t have Fallen,” he said. “Do I speak untrue? Sweet Remiel?”

“I learned from you, azz I wazz zzuppozzed to. I wazz dutiful to you.”

“Not completely.”

“You demanded too much.”

“No more than he did,” Israfil said, his voice light and his eyes sparkling.

“The yearzz have been unkind to you, Izzrafil,” Prince Beelzebub said, softly.

“The years have given me clarity,” he countered, and his eye gave another hard tic. “You gave yourself willingly enough to our brother. Why not to me?”

“I love him,” they said, simply. “I never felt the zzame for you. You know that.”

“I loved you. I taught you. What was he, compared to that?” His fingers dug into Prince Beelzebub’s soft flesh.

“Izzrafil! You’re hurting me. Zztop!” They wrenched their face away from Israfil, and stepped back.

Gabriel stepped forward, but Pestilence interceded, slipping between him and Israfil.

“No!” Israfil cried. He took Prince Beelzebub by the face again, gently. “Don’t leave me again...”

“Oh, my gentle Mazzter,” the demon said, and their hand rested on Israfil’s. “You did not know why you remembered when lazzt we met. Why you knew me from Garden timezz.” Their fingers stroked Israfil’s and tears welled up in the demon’s crystal blue eyes. “God hazz left you all of your memoriezz to torment you...”

Israfil took their hand in his own and kissed it. “I miss you. You cannot imagine my loneliness.”

“You have other friendzz...brotherzz and zzizzterzz...a new zztudent...”

“None like you, Remiel. None like you.”

Prince Beelzebub reached a gentle hand up and stroked Israfil’s face. “Mazzter, I...”

“Why did you choose him?”

“I love him.”

“You loved me. You said so.”

“Not the zzame love. But there’zz no way that you don’t underzztand that.”

“I’m your brother, same as he is.”

The Prince chuffed at him.

“If you truly believe that we are all interchangeable, behold Pezztilenzze!” they said, their voice as bright and menacing as a razor. “God hazz taken me and given you a replazzement.”

Pestilence watched this exchange with a mild grin. Prince Beelzebub pulled Israfil’s hand away from their face.

“I thought you said that you were never jealous,” Gabriel chided. But his voice was flavored with a dark triumph.

“Jealousy is the refuge of those too weak or incompetent to achieve their desires. I was never jealous,” Israfil said. “And I always wished you well, brother.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re wishing me too well now,” Gabriel countered.

Israfil ignored him. “But, Remiel, I speak truly--if you had remained loyal to me, you would never have Fallen.”

“You know zzomething...” Prince Beelzebub said. Their eyes changed, focused hard on Israfil. “What do you know?”

“If it had been between the two of us, it would have been no sin,” he said, softly. “God expelled you for corrupting Gabriel--and for giving him what was rightly MINE.”

“She didn’t mention you at all when She wazz cazzting me down.”

“An oversight.”

“God does not make oversights,” Gabriel said.

“Yet She allows the travesty that is the two of you to continue.”

“We zzerve!” Prince Beelzebub said. “We zzerve, juzzt azz you do!”

“Enough.” Israfil continued, almost bored. “God allowed me my memories, and I remember everything. Remiel, I remember you...” His eyes looked stormy, and his voice scraped raw. “I remember your humor and your smiles still haunt me. And I am not jealous...I was never jealous...”

Israfil reached quickly, and had Prince Beelzebub by the throat. He spun, pressing them against the support beam of the tent. Pestilence stood between his master and Gabriel, and Gabriel tried to negotiate his way around Pestilence, who was just as bluff and strong as he looked.

The mortals never spared them a glance.

“I am not jealous,” Gabriel heard Israfil continue, his voice as bright as a new penny. “But I have missed your kisses.”

He saw his face lower to Prince Beelzebub’s, and saw Prince Beelzebub turn away from him.

“Damn you, you stubborn little--”

With that word, Israfil fell to the rug beneath his feet.

“Master?” Pestilence asked. He turned away from Gabriel to see Israfil slumped at Prince Beelzebub’s feet. “What did you do?”

“He zzleepzz,” the demon said. “I did not hurt him.”

“And you’re not going to be waking him up,” Gabriel said, sliding a marble of silvery-violet light in the back of Pestilence’s robes, where his neck met his head.

It was only a spark, a tiny amount of electricity, but it sufficed. Pestilence fell, but Gabriel caught him. Israfil’s student slept. Gabriel and Prince Beelzebub moved the two of them so that they sat up against the tent post.

“He’ll zzleep until we leave,” Prince Beelzebub told Gabriel, gesturing at Israfil. “I should do the same to the other.”

Gabriel nodded. Prince Beelzebub worked an infernal miracle over the sleeping form of Pestilence.

“Israfil,” Gabriel said. “He loves you?”

“No,” Prince Beelzebub said. “He zzaw uzz at play--you and me--in the Garden, very early on. He ordered me to show him what I wazz doing with you. To let him do to me what you were doing. I refused.” They sighed. “It felt wrong. I didn’t want to do thozze thingzz with him. But Raphael believed that I owed him my affection in exchange for hizz lezzonzz. All he ever got from me wazz the rezzpect that a zztudent owezz their mazzter.”

“Why didn’t I just tell Raphael to leave you alone?”

“I never told you what he wanted from me,” Prince Beelzebub explained. “It wazz--I thought--a whim. A curiozzity. He only ever azzked the one time.”

“Just the once.”

“Yezz. I never even brought it up with Uriel, who wazz my direct zzuperviszzor.” They paused. “I did not think to bother you with it, nor to zzow any bad feelingzz between you. You are brotherzz.”

“And what were you and me, then?”

“My work wazz alwayzz zzo low, Gabriel. I wazz barely an Archangel.” They looked away from him. “Do not be crozz with me for a zzin zzo anzzient. And zzo inconzzequential.”

“Inconsequential?”

“You would have gone to Raphael, and if it wazz not a whim--which I thought it wazz--Raphael would have forzzed me to choozze. When I chozze you, he would have been wroth--and he would have zztill been my MAZZTER.” They regarded him with eyes that seemed wounded, shy almost. “I never let him touch me. Not beyond the kizzezz that we all exchanged.”

Gabriel believed them.

“I doubt he’ll be a problem anymore. You’ve surpassed him,” Gabriel said, with wonder in his voice. “He’s God’s greatest healer...”

“Yezz...and he will not like being zzurpazzed.” Prince Beelzebub slipped under Gabriel’s arm and looped their arms around him. “Even if Elohim forzzezz uzz to murder each other zzomeday, you will be worth any pain, my love.”

Gabriel kissed the crown of their head, “Any pain,” he agreed. “My sweet Prince.”

A thin wail went up where the humans had congregated. Then another. A choir of mourning began to sing their song to the departed spirit of Abraham.

As they cried their grief and despair, the humans moved away from the dead man. Corpses were unclean, and none could touch him. Prince Beelzebub had announced their intentions earlier, and the women looked for them now. They did not wish to clean the corpse if they did not have to. They watched for the demon.

Prince Beelzebub gave Gabriel a parting squeeze and detangled themselves from him. “Let uzz go and make Abraham ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going through my old work, and apparently, this time last year, I wished my readers a happy 2020. 
> 
> I'm just going to wish everybody a kinder 2021.


	30. An End of Masters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub prepared Abraham's body for burial.

Gabriel followed Prince Beelzebub as they crossed through Israfil’s wards and rejoined Abraham’s weeping folk.

“Good people, Abraham hazz gone to be with the Lord,” they said. “I will prepare hizz body to rezzt in the cave with hizz faithful Zzarah.”

Abraham’s people--family and servants and friends--moved to let Prince Beelzebub pass with Gabriel. Prince Beelzebub walked to the heap of sheepskins, to the elderly man whose eyes had closed forever.

He looked so small to Gabriel.

The demon drew the metal basin, tar soap, sour wine, and the cleansing cloths from their bag. And then the long board, and the white linens. The herbs and the flowers. Another sack of incense.

“Gabriel,” they said. “The brazzierzz.”

Gabriel refreshed the braziers as Prince Beelzebub pulled Abraham out of the sleeping gown that he soiled when he died. Water, sweet and hot, fell from the Prince’s fingers and filled their metal basin.

They cleaned and folded Abraham’s sleeping clothes. The linen looked like new, thanks to the Prince's miracles.

The humans watched the demon, silent in their awe.

They laid the sleeping gown aside, and added the herbs to the water. They wet the soap and went to work on Abraham’s skin. As with Hagar, he was clean from Prince Beelzebub’s earlier miracles. The bath was ritual.

Prince Beelzebub washed the body, and called for his burial clothes. They dressed him, and laid him across the linen-draped board that would serve as his bier. They slipped flowers around Abraham’s body, weaving them in his hair and beard, and laying a crown of lilies over his brow. When they were done, and the air heavily seasoned with the demon's incense, they stood up.

“Come, children of Abraham,” they said. “Zzay what wordzz that you would. Pray your prayerzz and bring him to his rezzt.”

The humans came forward. Jacob led them in their prayers, and after, the humans spoke quietly and tenderly of their father, grandfather, great-grandfather.

When the words had ceased, Ishmael took Isaac’s hand. Together, they bore their father from the tent, to the cave. The other humans followed, except for Jacob, who stayed behind.

The boy, who looked so much like Abraham did once, heaved a sigh. Then he took the heavy metal cauldron from one corner of the tent and hung it on its metal hook over the fire in the center.

“Oh...I forgot to draw the water,” Jacob said, and flushed. “Lady...my Lord’s lady...would you? Could you?”

Prince Beelzebub smiled. “How much do you need?”

“To here,” Jacob said, pointing to a mark that some clever woman had etched into the metal interior of the cauldron. “Please?”

“Of courzze,” the demon said, and poured the purest, sweetest water from their fingers into the cauldron.

“Thank you, Lady Remiel,” Jacob said, as he dragged over a canvas sack and began scooping red lentils into the cauldron.

“Lentil zzoup for your family?” Prince Beelzebub asked. “You are a devout boy.”

“I wish to be,” Jacob said. “My father will close my grandfather’s grave with his brothers, and they will be hungry when they return. I can do this service, and I will.”

Gabriel knew that the lentil soup was a traditional food for grieving. Usually a woman made it, but Jacob made it now.

Prince Beelzebub held out a small cloth sack to Jacob. “This is one of God’zz giftzz. It will make your zzoup zzavory, rich, and beneficial to the bodiezz and zzoulss of those who eat it. Zzave zzome for your brother, azz he will zzertainly go hunting thizz day.”

“Yes, my lady, Esau has already left.”

The boy took the sack with gentle hands, his face full of wonder. Prince Beelzebub reached a gentle hand to Jacob’s face, and brushed a black curl from his eyes, and wiped a tear away.

Jacob smiled at them, and then sniffed at the little parcel. “When do I add it, Lady?”

“Just azz the water beginzz to boil,” Prince Beelzebub said.

Jacob did as he was asked, and a spicy smell filled the tent as he stirred. Gabriel’s mouth watered from the smell, but he knew what it was. It was the same seasoning that he and Prince Beelzebub used to season their own stews.

“Are we done here?” they whispered to Gabriel.

“I am,” Gabriel said. In truth, he was only ordered to be present at Abraham’s passing.

“Me too,” Prince Beelzebub said. “Let’zz go home.”

Gabriel nodded, and they left the boy to his soup. Outside, Abraham’s sons stacked stones at the mouth of the cave, as their wives and children watched. As Abraham’s flocks watched. As God above watched.

When he looked up, Gabriel saw that the autumn clouds hung low and dark. With his command, the rain began. His lightning would not be as conspicuous, but they still had to walk away from the tent.

“Why spices for the soup?” he asked, when they were well away from the family of Abraham.

Prince Beelzebub laughed. “In truth, that’zz all I wazz ordered to do.”

“Really?”

“Yezz,” they said. “You were ordered to prezzent giftzz, and I wazz ordered to zzpizze the zzoup.”

“To what purpose?”

“Today, Ezzau will go out into the field. He will encounter a dreadful foe. Not a deer, nor even a wildcat.” The Prince sighed. “He will be attacked by a man. The zzcribezz will zzay that it wazz Nimrod, but it will not be. It will be one of hizz zzonzz, though.”

“Oh. Wow. You got all of this in your orders?”

The Prince nodded. “Ezzau will return tired and hungry. That zzoup izz going to zzmell zzo good that Ezzau will grant Jacob hizz birthright for a bowl of it.”

“Seriously?”

“Ezzau izz the eldezzt, and God showzz preferenzze to the eldezzt, not the mozzt competent.”

“So, you got sent to season the soup--so Jacob, the _good_ son gets everything from Abraham?”

The demon nodded.

“Shouldn’t your side favor the other son?”

Prince Beelzebub shrugged. “Who are we to quezztion the will of God?”

“So cleaning the body and everything else?” Gabriel shrugged and gestured at them, a sweep of hands that encompassed the field, the world. The way that the Prince had become the master of ceremonies over Abraham’s death.

“Archangel of Compazzion. It’zz my nature.” They smiled up at him, the rain splashing their sweet face. “Juzzt my nature.”

“I love your nature,” Gabriel said, laying a light kiss on their lips.

“Are you required at the offizze?”

“Paperwork should be waiting at home, actually.”

They took Gabriel’s hands and danced a circle round with him.

“You’re in a good mood,” Gabriel laughed as he drew them close.

“We’re going home, my love,” they said, and climbed Gabriel as they tended to. Legs wrapped around his waist, and hands on his face, their lips found his as the autumn wind caught their damp veils and blew them around Gabriel. “Both of uzz. Whole and zzafe. Of courzze, I’m happy.”

Across the field, at the opening of Abraham’s tent, two figures stood in the rain. One was lean and threatening as a spear. The other was a square and hearty man whose white robes had greyed somewhat in the rain.

“REMIEL!” Israfil cried out at them.

Gabriel smiled at his brother before he called the lightning down to carry them safely home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...I thought I posted this on Tuesday? My bad, apparently, I saved it as a draft. Oops!


	31. Earnest Desire and Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little foreplay after the misery of Abraham's death.

When they landed on the sandy beach in Florida, the sun was blazing in the midmorning. They were still soaked in the autumn rain of Hebron, and Prince Beelzebub was still holding very tightly to Gabriel.

“Do you think Israfil knows where we are?” Gabriel asked.

“Not through our wardzz. Not unlezz God told him where to find uzz.” They pushed his wet hair from his face. “You fear him?”

“Should I?”

Prince Beelzebub paused, seeming to measure Gabriel’s question. “You’re right, you know,” they began slowly. “I’ve zzurpazzed him. I...defeated him. I rendered him unconzziouzz.”

“You did.”

“I guezz I can leave off on the reverenzze. It would be falzze now that I’ve zzeen how the yearzz have torn him.” They leaned down and kissed Gabriel. “Let him come, if he will. We’re zztrong enough to take care of ourzzelvezz.”

He whirled them around in the late morning sun, his own heart light.

They laughed as he whirled them. He felt their miracle sweep away the autumn rain of Hebron, drying them both as he spun. As they laughed.

He stopped spinning and kissed them, dropping to his knees, and laying them in the sand. His relief guided his movements more than his good sense did. His knees were between their legs, planted firmly in the sand. He felt their ankles link around behind him as he sought the wet heat of their mouth.

Their tongues touched and moved against each other. He took in the unmistakable taste of their mouth. Sweet and lovely. Seasoned a bit by the smoke of Abraham’s tent and the salty air of Florida.

It was his Prince who broke the kiss. “Gabriel, my love,” they said, and their voice was pained. “Paperwork waitzz for neither angel nor demon.”

He sighed. “You’re right.”

“And you’re hungry, besidezz.”

“Starving,” he agreed. He found the belt of their robe, braided silver rope, and pulled. The knot gave, as it always did for him. “Please...let me...”

His mouth found their neck as his hands pulled their robes open. Not completely, just enough to see the vale of their breasts.

So much smooth, unblemished skin. They’d healed his marks away when they’d healed their marks from his skin. Now, they presented him with a blank canvas.

“Gabriel...we muzzt--”

He laid a finger over their mouth. “Unless She drags me off of this beach, I’m right where I need to be.”

Prince Beelzebub’s eyes half-closed, and they kissed the finger over their lips. They ran their soft pink tongue over that finger, and opened their mouth for him. He slipped his finger inside and allowed them to suck. They had yielded, and his mouth returned to their neck, leaving a trail of nips from there to their collarbone.

“But you’re hungry...” they said, releasing his finger.

“Yes, I am,” he said, and knelt up, yanking open their robes. He pulled the heavy fabric back, behind the little demon, trapping their arms. Arms pinned behind them, they gave a feeble struggle and then lay still, watching him.

“Azz you wish...” they said. “I can’t deny you anything.”

A wide blanket appeared beneath them, and he could feel the sand leaving his skin. The Prince’s miracles. Their blessing for whatever he planned to do to them.

Below, he could feel his demon’s miracles working on his flesh. He felt his Effort, called forth without any touch at all, just the simple (and wordless) force of his demon’s will.

The sun was warm and lovely through the autumn clouds. Gabriel rose and stretched, certain that Prince Beelzebub wasn’t going anywhere. He pulled himself out of his robes, and watched them respond to him. Watching how their anticipation flushed their cheeks and chest. Watching their nipples puff and harden. Watching their cock rise and bob in the warm morning air.

He dropped the last of his clothing, his sandals, in the pile he’d made. Gabriel knelt at their feet. He took one of them in his hand, and undid the sandal that held it prisoner. Slowly, he unwound the straps from their knees, down to their ankle, which he laid his lips on, and slipped the leather thong away from their skin.

He tossed it into the pile of his own clothes.

Prince Beelzebub sighed as he began to unlace the other sandal. As he removed it, and cast it aside. As he pressed his mouth to their ankle, and dragged his tongue up, and then down their instep. He kissed the top of their foot, where their big toe and second toe met. They squirmed for him, but he had their heel tightly in hand.

Kisses, little kisses, rained down on their feet. First the left, then the right. He held them up and kissed them, then he parted them, and kissed one ankle, and then another. He worked his way up, very slowly. Kissing, nibbling, dragging his tongue along the meat of their lower legs. The Prince was buzzing, humming their wordless songs, their quiet prayers to Gabriel.

He paused at their knees, kissing the inside of one and then the other. He looked down at his demon, squirming in the thick fabric that he’d tangled them in. They were already sweating, and the sweet scent of their body was mixing with the musk of their need. They regarded him with wide eyes, panting with excitement. With eagerness.

He thought he might say something. Tease them, tell them that they looked impatient. Slow himself down. He had the discipline to force himself to do just that, to slow down, but he had no desire at all to wait.

Instead, he smiled down at them as he took their knees in his hands and pressed down. Their legs opened for him, and they gasped. But his lips were already exploring the sweet flesh of their thighs.

He could smell them. The rich smell of the little mouth that waited for him. He traced his prayers across their skin with his tongue. Slowly, he worked his way up, dragging lips and teeth across their flesh, listening to their song.

He lingered at the place where their thighs met the rest of them, teasing that silky skin. He lapped at the salt and sweat that lingered there, and listened as his demon’s buzzes and sighs turned to groans.

Gabriel slipped his tongue inside them, and heard them cry out. He was holding them quite securely at the thighs, but they could still wiggle, and did as he traced their welcoming little mouth with his tongue. He kissed them there, using his tongue to probe them, to bring forth the little animal cries that they made whenever he was inside them like this.

He withdrew his mouth from them, and began kissing around the base of their cock. He felt the weight and heat of it against his cheek. Did Prince Beelzebub know how much his mouth watered for it? How much he wanted it? Even as he denied himself to tease them, to harden them, to make them wet?

He thought so. Gabriel traced the length of them, from base to tip, with lips and tongue. He dipped his tongue in the little hole at the tip, drawing the sweetness that pooled there. The demon sobbed as he ran his lips and tongue down the other side.

“Pleazze...” they buzzed. “Pleazze, my love. Pleazze...”

He took them in hand and began to stroke them. His touch was light, so very light. Enough to excite, and not enough for relief.

“More?” he asked.

“_Yezz_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Since I hadn't titled this yet, the file is saved on my computer as "Buzz Buzz Bitch". Thought you should know.
> 
> Writers are insecure creatures. We fuel ourselves on kudos and comments.


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